Superlatives
by Kudra23
Summary: A photo of Harry and Draco captured by Colin Creevey's camera sets off a series of unexpected events. HarryDraco pairing.
1. Chapter 1

Hey all. I'm not abandoning my other projects, I've just decided to post a few silly, shorter stories that I work on when I need a break from the larger, more plot-filled ones. This fic includes gay-basher bashing, if that makes any sense, and is rated for harsh language. It's mostly meant in fun, but I'll admit that some of Ron's dialogue mirrors a certain inlaw of mine, though without the (attempted) British inflection. Some of my own issues with people who gay-bash are coming out here, so to speak. If it doesn't sound like your cup o' java (or in this case, tea), feel free not to read, or to read and send me angry reviews. It's all good. :)

It all started with a picture, captured by none other than Colin Creevey's hyperactive camera. The picture in question was taken near the start of their 7th Year at Hogwarts, and when it was discovered amongst the endless batches of photos Colin submitted to the Yearbook Committee, it caused quite a stir. The members of the Committee just _knew _they had to do something with the extraordinary image, so they decided to keep it secret and find a place for it in the coming edition.

Their patience was finally rewarded two weeks into second term, when the books were ready for distribution. It was a rather ordinary Wednesday when a fleet of owls entered the Great Hall during breakfast.

"Ooh, the yearbooks are here!" Ginny exclaimed happily, a sentiment echoed at every table. Chatter in the Great Hall reached a feverish pitch as the owls delivered their packages and then swooped back out again.

Harry and Ron were the only Gryffindors that didn't immediately dive into their yearbooks; Ron, because he was more interested in his treacle tart; Harry, because he just didn't care. He'd only bought one because Hermione and Ginny pitched a fit first term when he admitted that he hadn't placed an order. They insisted he'd want it one day when he had a family of his own. He didn't bother mentioning how unlikely it was that he'd live past twenty, not to mention that yearbooks only held charm for those whose faces weren't plastered in the Wizarding papers daily.

Thus, he ignored the book in favor of debating Quidditch strategy with Ron, which, as usual, involved translating his friend's food-impaired speech patterns.

"'arry," the redhead insisted. "I shtiwl fink woo shid twyer 'uck wiffer 'irdy ommer onian."

Harry smirked. "You think I should try to fuck a dirty Pomeranian?"

Ron turned, if possible, even redder. "Fwarooo er fwiwwil id! Fwoo ummeren re!"

The Boy Who Lived chuckled, always happy to trot out his slippery, Slytherin side in the name of giving Ron hell. "Of course I understand you, ickle Ronnikins. And I'll try my luck with the 3rd Degree Hovering Avian next practice." He took a sip of his pumpkin juice.

Ron swallowed. "Don't call me that, you git!" Eying his uncharacteristically cheery friend with suspicion, he added, "You're right chipper today…"

Harry paused strategically, waiting until Ron had a mouthful of pumpkin juice before replying. "Well," he sighed, casting a longing glance at the Head Table. "It's Wednesday, and I'm _so_ looking forward to Potions with Severus."

Right on cue, the youngest male Weasley choked, spraying the table (and its unfortunate occupants) with juice. Except for Harry, of course, who'd had the foresight to cast a shielding spell. Ron's eyes bulged comically. "That's the most disgusting bloody thing I've ever heard!" he announced, staring at the Boy-Who-Lived as though he'd suddenly morphed into some unknown, and supremely icky, species. Possibly related to the Acromantula.

Harry heard gasps and exclamations coming from all around them, followed by the all too familiar sensation of numerous pairs of eyes swiveling to gape at him. Running a hand through his perpetually messy hair in agitation, he peeked at his fellow Gryffindors curiously, wondering why they were staring so. It reminded him of the time he'd accidentally outed himself as a Parselmouth in 2nd Year.

"Um, just kidding?" he offered, thinking that they must have overheard his comment about Snape.

Then he noticed that the entire Great Hall was buzzing, staring avidly at something in their yearbooks. Every once in a while, someone would dare a glance at Harry or Draco Malfoy, who had just started to notice all the attention. Green eyes met gray for the briefest of moments across the Hall, seeking answers that neither one had.

"Harry…" Hermione began cautiously, drawing his attention back to his housemates.

"What's going on?" he demanded, wondering what awful thing had been printed about him now that was poised to ruin his day.

The brightest Witch at Hogwarts flinched. "Well," she hedged.

Harry waved her off with an impatient hand, plucked up his yearbook, and began flipping through it.

An oblivious Ron reached out for another tart. "What're you looking for, mate?" he asked.

"The reason everyone's staring," the raven-haired Wizard replied grimly.

Ron finally took notice of the uproar around them. Looking to Hermione for direction, he accepted the open yearbook she slid under his nose. "_Bloody buggering hell!_" he shouted.

Harry glared. "What page?"

"Superlatives," Hermione supplied, as Ron had forgotten how to breathe, and was busy turning an interesting puce color.

Turning to the appropriate section, Harry frowned. What could possibly be here that would cause such chaos? He quickly scanned the various categories: Best Dressed, Most Likely To Succeed, Most Athletic, Best Friends, Biggest Wand… the list went on. And then he saw it. The final category, and on a page all its own, was Cutest Couple: Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Under the heading, there was a picture.

"Holy _fuck_," he exhaled.


	2. Chapter 2

Strangely enough, he knew exactly which day this picture was taken. That was saying something, considering just how many fights the infamous rivals had been involved in. Neither Wizard had even bothered drawing their wands that day, both desperately needing the violent clarity of physical combat. They'd skipped past the warm-up round and straight to the big time. Draco asked if Harry'd gotten anyone killed lately, and Harry asked if Draco'd been violated by the Dark Lord lately. Instant carnage.

The Slytherin Prince had leapt forward with a growl, slamming Harry bodily into the stone wall. The raven-haired Wizard had chuckled gleefully up into his archenemy's face, and Draco had leaned in, using his own lithe form to trap him. 'Jealous, Potter?' he'd drawled.

This was the moment the camera had immortalized, an instant before Draco aimed a right hook, and Harry ducked, sweeping the other boy's legs out from under him. What followed was a lot of rolling and tussling; leaving each bruised and battered when McGonagall and Snape finally yanked them apart.

The photo, however, only showed Draco pressing Harry into the wall with his body, Harry's wicked grin, and Draco leaning in to whisper something in his ear. Their eyes met in a blaze of emerald and silver, and it looked for all the world that their next move would be _quite_ different from what actually transpired.

"Holy fuck," he repeated, this time barely a whisper.

Then he heard Dean murmur, "Is it just me or…"

"Does it look like they're about to shag right there in the hallway?" Seamus finished for him, with a wink at Harry.

"Hell yeah," Dean said softly, eyes glazing slightly.

"BLIGGGHHHENHHK AORRRRGHHH!" Ron gargled, looking one shade of red away from a coronary.

Harry felt it wise to ignore him, choosing instead to let his gaze be drawn to his platinum-haired nemesis. Draco was holding up rather well, unleashing his patented Malfoy glare on anyone dense enough to question him. His face was a perfect mask of sneering confidence, but as Harry watched, the Slytherin Ice Prince's eyes kept flitting to the photo.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione asked worriedly.

The boy in question forcibly reined himself in. Things would start breaking otherwise. "I'm bloody-fucking marvelous, love."

His voice was low and sibilant, causing everyone around him to instinctively back away. Harry Potter was scarier than Voldemort and Grindewald combined when he was brassed off. Usually, this was the part where he'd stalk from the Great Hall in a great swooshing of robes that rivaled Snape's, but instead he deliberately stayed where he was and took another sip of his pumpkin juice. He certainly didn't look at the photo again. Not that he needed to, the damning image was already burned in his memory.

Harry didn't speak for the rest of breakfast, or on the long walk to the dungeons for Double Potions with the Slytherins. Ron, however, had tragically found his voice and was currently subjecting the Boy-Who-Lived to a nonstop litany of his outrage. Ron had gone from blaming the yearbook staff, to blaming Malfoy for carrying out some evil plot, to blaming Harry himself. The problem with Ron was that he still thought Harry purposely sought out attention, and had yet to get over his insane jealousy. It was a constant source of bitterness between them.

They entered the Potions classroom, and Harry went straight for a seat beside Neville, allowing Hermione and Ron to take the bench in front of them. Ron had moved on to the subject of gayness in general, and how utterly disgusting and insulting it was to imply that Harry and Malfoy were a couple, even as a joke, and especially given that Malfoy was an evil, slimy snake. Lather, rinse, and repeat ad nauseum.

Harry stared straight ahead, acknowledging no one. Truth be told, Ron's thoughtless words were making him angrier than the photo itself. He'd never given much thought to his sexuality; having an evil Dark Lord hanging about in your head was a real buzz-kill, but something about Ron's words burned him. For one thing, he was fairly certain that Seamus and Dean were more than friends, though they were very discreet about it. Harry firmly believed that it didn't matter who a person was attracted to, but why did he feel so _personally_ insulted by the redhead's diatribe?

This whole incident had given him unwelcome insight into his best mate's views on several subjects. Most notably that Ron still didn't understand him; he was blinded by his resentment over Harry's Boy-Who-Lived status. Ron didn't see the consequences. Like all the blood on his hands, for example. Or the fact that he'd _never_ find someone he was compatible with. No one could see past his fame. And being number one on a psychopath's hit list was such a turn-off for some people. Go figure.

He found himself incongruously thankful when Snape came billowing in, striding swiftly to the front of the classroom. The professor looked like someone had cast an engorgement charm on the broom up his arse.

"Silence!" Snape roared over the rampant chatter, and Harry was appreciative when even Ron closed his mouth instantly. His relief faded, however, when the Potions Master glared wrathfully at him, clearly indicating that this entire fiasco was Harry's fault.

"Today you will work in pairs to prepare the potion on the board." He gleefully paused to allow his students a small measure of hope, and then added, "Your partners are as follows…"


	3. Chapter 3

'He just couldn't resist, could he,' Harry thought, as he picked up his belongings and joined his Potions partner. Draco Malfoy, of course. Because the whole world would end if something actually went Harry's way. Literally. He had yet to speak.

"Just brilliant," Draco snapped. He thought it was all Potter's fault, too.

Harry, wisely, said nothing, just took out his notebook and began copying the instructions from the board.

Draco glanced at him, instantly taking in his rival's volatile stance. Potter's green eyes were practically glowing with barely restrained magic. Was he the only person that had noticed this? Between the Weasel and Snape, the Golden Boy was going to snap.

"I'll prepare the cauldron, Potter," he said curtly. "You get the ingredients."

The raven-haired Wizard nodded jerkily and stood. If Malfoy managed to be this civil all period, he might just make it through without ruining his potion, or, say, destroying all the glassware. Snape was positively itching to slap him with detention, or maybe just slap him upside the head.

Harry noticed, with some trepidation, that Ron was glowering at him as he returned from the storage room with a tray full of ingredients. Harry forced himself not to drop everything and demand to know what he'd done wrong _now_. Instead, he sat silently beside his nemesis and double-checked that he'd gotten everything they needed.

"Slice the dandelion root four times lengthwise, and then chop it into 2mm segments," Draco instructed.

Harry did as he was told, happily losing himself in the task. Ten minutes later, he glanced over at his partner, watching idly as Malfoy moved with ease and confidence to complete the first few steps of the potion.

Feeling eyes on him, Draco looked up. "Done?" Potter nodded, so he leaned over to inspect his work. "Right, I'll stir, and you drop in one pinch of dandelion root every 20 seconds."

Harry moved closer, plucking up the timepiece and waiting for Malfoy to begin. He never thought he'd be grateful for Potions class, but it provided an excellent distraction today. For some inexplicable reason, his rival seemed to realize just how close to the edge he was. They stood side by side over their cauldron, working silently until the step was complete. That was when Harry looked up and saw that their classmates were watching them avidly.

Draco felt Potter bristle, and, risking a glance around the room, instantly sorted out why. He was beyond pissed about this whole fiasco, but somehow it seemed to be hitting Potter harder. Maybe it was because very few people would dare to question Draco's actions, even if he _was_ shagging his nemesis. The entire Wizarding world, however, seemed to think they had a say in every aspect of Potter's life, and the stupid prat allowed it.

His partner's eyes were almost glowing again in his rage. "Potter," Draco snapped, effectively drawing the Wizard's attention back to him. "Grind up the African Beetle."

Harry locked gazes with him, catching the flood of emotions in Malfoy's silvery-gray eyes. They didn't match the harshness of his voice. He let out the breath that was trapped in his lungs, and turned his attention to the mortar and pestle as directed.

The rest of Potions passed in much the same way. Everyone was fascinated by the spectacle of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy working well together without fuss, especially on the heels of the infamous photo. They didn't realize that Harry was afraid to open his mouth for fear of unleashing his magic, and Draco, though he loved to play with fire, made it a point not to play with nuclear bombs. What was that old saying? Never shove your wand up a hippogriff's arse? Especially when said hippogriff is Harry Potter. It was hard to say whether it'd be worse to shove a wand up Potter's arse or a hippogriff's arse, but seeing as Draco didn't have time to prepare a cost/benefit analysis of the situation, he stuck with the platitude's original intent. Meaning that his wand stayed firmly in his pocket.

Due to their lack of squabbling, and Harry's newfound attention to detail, they brewed their potion correctly. They cleaned up in silence, and then Harry went to rejoin his friends. He still hadn't said a word. Ron accosted him as soon as they left the classroom, apparently having plenty of words of his own to make up for Harry's dearth.

"Bloody hell, mate!" he exploded. "Why were you and sodding _Malfoy_ acting so chummy?"

The raven-haired Wizard eyed his friend speculatively, but said nothing.

"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione intervened. "Harry didn't _choose_ to be partnered with him. School work is more important than petty rivalries."

Ron shook his head belligerently. "Not when it comes to Malfoy." Turning his gaze to the boy in question, he added, "Do you realize how that looked? Now it's gonna get 'round that you and that Death Eater spawn really _are_ filthy faggots."

The hallway was full of students by now, and those that were more interested in the face-off between Harry and Ron than being on time to their next lesson (read: everyone) watched their interaction eagerly. Harry felt Dean and Seamus stiffen at the redhead's choice of words. He turned his head to meet their eyes, and both nearly staggered at the electric rage they saw. With a brief nod, they acknowledged the silently offered apology for Ron's prejudice, and for Harry's current inability to dress him down for it.

Draco watched the spectacle, knowing exactly why Potter wasn't speaking. He also caught the look he threw Finnegan and Thomas, although no one else did. Potter turned deliberately away from the Weasel and began to walk at a carefully moderated pace, presumably to his next class. His lackeys immediately followed, the Weasel babbling on maddeningly all the while.


	4. Chapter 4

It was in Transfigurations that the real trouble started. Harry hadn't been able to shake Ron, who was now sitting beside him demanding an explanation for his behavior. It got moderately better when McGonagall entered the room, until she announced that today's lesson would be a practical one. Harry sat stiffly in his chair, watching Ron attempt to transfigure a mouse into a cat. When McGonagall approached, Harry just stared at her mutely, silently begging her to leave him alone.

"Mr. Potter," she chided. "I'm not certain what game you're playing, but you will attempt this transfiguration _now_."

Just as he was beginning to panic, there was a loud, feminine shriek from behind them. Everyone turned to stare in shock. An enormous lion crouched on Malfoy and Parkinson's table, glaring balefully around the room. It let loose with a ferocious roar, and McGonagall whipped out her wand to change it back before it could do something irreversible, like bite someone's head off.

"Mr. Malfoy!" she cried indignantly. "What is the meaning of this?"

He smiled innocently up at her. "Oops?" he offered.

By the time McGonagall turned her attention back to Harry, there was a small, orange cat blinking sleepily where his mouse used to be. She eyed him somewhat suspiciously, but, still shaken by the sudden appearance of the lion, she let it go. He turned to smile his thanks to Dean, who'd taken advantage of the melee to transfigure Harry's mouse. As he passed by Malfoy's desk at the end of class, his nemesis met his eyes calmly, giving no indication of whether his botched transfiguration was intentional. But, this was one of Malfoy's best subjects, and he _never_ made mistakes in their practical lessons. Harry blinked, and nodded slightly in recognition.

Draco entered the Great Hall for lunch, noting with distaste that everyone stopped what they were doing to stare. He didn't mind being stared at, per se, but only when he was in control of the situation. This was far too much like last year, when everyone found out that his Father was in Azkaban. He turned up the wattage on his Malfoy glare, pleased when several Hufflepuffs quivered. Stalking gracefully to his seat, he showed no hint of being bothered by the chaos around him.

As he listened to Pansy whine about the essay assigned by Snape, Potter blew into the Hall in a dark cloud of barely controlled fury. Draco was amused to note that people instinctively stepped out of his way. The Boy-Who-Lived dropped into his seat and began mechanically shoving food in his mouth, refusing to meet the Weasel's eyes. Granger was clearly trying to keep the peace, but the redhead only had eyes for Potter.

The Weasel's strident voice carried well, though it hardly mattered considering that everyone in the Hall had stopped speaking in favor of listening in.

"What the bloody hell are you on, mate?" he demanded.

The raven-haired Wizard blinked.

Hermione sighed. "Ron," she snapped. "Calm down."

"Calm down?" he repeated incredulously. "You want me to calm down when my supposed best mate is a bloody shirt-lifter?"

"Ron, it's just a picture," the Witch reasoned, cringing as she realized that the whole school was watching.

The redhead refused to back down. "He hasn't even bothered to defend himself, 'Mione." He glanced at Harry with distaste. "Everyone saw him being all chummy with that Slytherin _snake_ in Potions," he accused.

"They weren't being chummy," she pointed out. "They simply completed their potion without loss of limb."

Ron thumped the table triumphantly. "Exactly! Those two should be tearing each other's throats out, not bloody shagging! Just the thought of two blokes going at it makes me sick, not to mention that it's _Malfoy_!" He turned to Harry. "Tell me it's not true," he ordered, blue eyes blazing.

Harry spoke for the first time since breakfast. "I'm not shagging Malfoy," he hissed, words sounding like a cross between English and Parseltongue. "But if I _was_, it'd be none of your fucking business."

The redhead opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Harry stormed out of the Great Hall, the air around him fairly crackling with magic. The dramatic flaring of robes that ensued (grudgingly) impressed even Snape.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry was absolutely thrilled that he had a free period after lunch. There was only one way to vent his rage without a body count. For once, no one questioned him as he stalked through the corridors and out of the castle. They backed away, and the deep, dark heart of him liked it. As soon as he reached the, thankfully empty, Quidditch Pitch, he was airborne, leaving his robes and his worries in a heap on the ground.

Draco couldn't help but watch Potter fly. He'd known exactly where his nemesis would go, having spent a good six years learning his quirks and habits. Potter flew like he'd been born on a broom during practices and matches, but when no one was around; he flew like he was _free_. Today, he was nothing short of breathtaking. His anger and defiance were visible in every death-defying stunt.

As Draco watched from the stands, Potter shot vertically up into the cloudless sky, bending his lithe body backward to face the ground below. Loud hissing sounds reached Draco's ears, and he realized that the raven-haired Wizard was shouting in Parseltongue. Then, Potter pulled his Firebolt parallel to the Pitch, letting his entire body drop down to hang beneath the broom, knees hooked casually around the handle.

He reached up to wrap a hand around the broom, and then pulled his knees into his chest, finally letting them swing below him. He was dangling below his Firebolt by one hand and grinning like a maniac. Placing a second hand on the handle, he did a pull up, twisting into a series of spiraling rolls during which he wrapped his body back around the broom.

As soon as he was back in racing position, he plunged into a vertical dive toward the ground. The look on his face was darkly triumphant, and Draco knew, in that instant, that his nemesis was purposely courting death. He didn't pull up until he was a mere foot from the ground, hopping up to stand atop the broom and whiz down the length of the Pitch.

Harry noticed Malfoy watching him, but he didn't care. It wasn't that unusual for either one of them to be found watching their opposition fly. He didn't get a chance to appreciate Malfoy's grace in the air when they were competing. It seemed natural, being that Quidditch, or more accurately _flying_, was their shared passion. If it had been anyone else, Harry would've held back; too much of his Golden Boy façade fell away when he was on his Firebolt.

While they might've watched each other from a safe distance, they'd never _joined_ each other, or interacted in any way. Which was probably why Draco felt the need to slap himself several times when Potter suddenly flew straight toward him and hovered three feet above his head. He had an intense, incomprehensible look on his face, emerald eyes burning into gray, taking his measure.

"Wanna join me?" Harry asked finally, breaking the tense silence, tilting his head at his nemesis.

Draco watched him carefully, as though attempting to weigh his motives. "We _are_ enemies, Potter," he pointed out. "We're meant to be - what was it the Weasel said? 'Tearing each other's throats out.'"

"Fuck that," Harry said flatly. "We can be enemies later."

The Slytherin Prince arched a brow. "That's not how it works."

Fiddling with the iPod he had strapped to his upper arm (a Christmas present to himself; Hermione's present had been a spell to make it useable at Hogwarts), Harry hesitated before responding. Part of him wanted to stick to the norm and keep up appearances, but another, increasingly large, part urged him to break free ala Freddie Mercury.

Meeting his rival's stormy eyes, he said defiantly, "I can do whatever the fuck I want, Malfoy. And so can you." He paused. "Unless you're afraid." The gauntlet had been thrown.

Draco lifted his chin proudly. "Never," he vowed. Folding his robes, he carefully placed them on the bench and grabbed his broom, hovering in the air in front of his nemesis. Eyeing the ear buds dangling around Potter's neck, he asked, "What's that?"

"An iPod," Harry explained. "It's a Muggle device. It has a memory chip; you transfer songs onto it, and you can listen to them whenever you like. Hermione found an adaptor spell so it can transfer magical energy into electricity."

The Ice Prince of Slytherin eyed his rival cautiously. "I like Muggle music," he admitted. "Grunge, among other things."

Harry's green eyes lit up. "How _interesting_, Malfoy," he sneered, but there was no malice in his tone. After a thoughtful pause, he murmured, "Let's do this right then." Pulling out his wand, he cast a Sonorus spell on the iPod. Glancing sideways at his flying partner, he taunted, "Ready?"

"Always," Draco shot back.


	6. Chapter 6

Pressing the 'Play' button, Harry shot straight up into the sky as the first bars of a song resounded throughout the Pitch, bouncing and rolling along with the guitar riff. Draco immediately joined him, a wide smirk on his face.

"Fuck all if you don't have good taste, Potter," he conceded.

The raven-haired Wizard grinned unrepentantly. "This is one of my favorite Soundgarden songs."

Draco scowled. "Less chatting, more flying," he ordered. He zipped away from Potter, and, deciding to give into the hypnotic power of music, he sang along to 'My Wave' as he flew.

They flew uninterrupted until the Slytherin Quidditch team approached the Pitch. The emerald-clad students stared wide-eyed at the two Wizards, who were high above the ground, singing along to Alice In Chains and playing a Seeker's version of H.O.R.S.E. McGonagall and Snape spouting poetry to each other in the Great Hall would've been less disturbing.

The duo finally noticed their audience and swooped down to land. Harry ended the Sonorus spell, the wide smile on his face a stark contrast to the black rage they'd witnessed at lunch. He took in the expressions on his rival team's faces, and chose to ignore them.

"Later," he muttered quietly to Malfoy as he prepared to leave the Pitch.

Draco nodded in return, and then sent his patented glare full force in the direction of his gawking teammates. "Close your mouths," he snapped. "Honestly, Slytherins are supposed to have class." With that, he orchestrated a hellish practice.

When Harry entered the Great Hall at dinner looking nearly pleasant, everyone wondered what had happened to cool his ire, especially since Ron still resembled an overripe tomato. Well, everyone wondered except the Slytherins, that is, who had witnessed that afternoon's events. But they weren't about to share, given that they had Supercool & Unaffected reputations to keep up, and that the events in question involved their Supreme Overlord.

Harry chose to sit by Seamus and Dean. He pointedly ignored the redhead, who was spitting nails, and engaged his more peaceable housemates in conversation.

"You aren't doing this on account of us, are you?" Dean murmured worriedly, when the noise level in the Great Hall had resumed its usual pitch.

Harry shook his head vigorously, sending a wary glance at Ron, who was still doing his tomato impression. "No," he assured them. "This is about Ron's issues with me, namely jealousy." Eyeing his friends, who were sitting just a hair too close to be purely platonic, he added, "But even if we didn't have our own issues, I'd still be brassed about his comments."

Seamus met his gaze knowingly. "Brassed on our behalf or _yours_?"

Harry sighed. "Been wondering that myself, actually."

The duo exchanged amused glances. "Well, either way, we've got your back," Dean promised.

"Or possibly, your backside," Seamus couldn't help but add.

"Seamus!" Harry yelped, blushing bright red and bursting into slightly hysterical laughter. Once again, all eyes turned toward him.

"Finding another freak to fuck?" Ron cut in, voice dripping with disgust, and, incidentally, nostrils dripping with Tapioca pudding from the dessert tray.

Harry turned to face him. "Why, are you jealous?" he challenged, determined that he would not be the one to flee the Hall this time. Going for broke, he bit his lower lip and winked at the redhead.

"GMMMARF ARRRGHHH!" Ron shouted wittily.

Harry raised a Draco-esque brow. "You want me to fuck you _now_? Right here at the table where everyone can see?"

Ron, having exhausted all shades of red, chose to explore the merits of purple. He leapt to his feet, screaming, "HUUEOO ROPPRRRT FRUKKKINE IJJJITT!"

"Ron," Harry began patiently, as though dealing with a pouty child. "I haven't got the handcuffs on me. They're still all sticky from the last time we used them!"

The redhead shrieked, apparently at the pain of being denied the use of handcuffs, and dashed from the Hall. If by dashed, one implies tripping over the bench seat, planting his purple head in his plate of Tapioca, staggering over to the Hufflepuff table and spewing creamy, white goo all over its occupants, and then running face-first into the door in his frantic escape from Evil Gay Harry.

"_Gryffindors_," Draco sneered.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day, all hell (which had already broken loose at Hogwarts) broke loose in the rest of the Wizarding world. Magical people everywhere awoke to _the _photo splashed across the front page of every newspaper. The following article appeared in the _Daily Prophet_ to accompany the photo.

_BOY WHO LIVED CAUGHT IN FLAGRANTE DELICTO WITH DEATH EATER'S SON_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_The question in everyone's minds and hearts today is this: Is the Boy Who Lived gay? Furthermore, is he involved in a tawdry relationship with Draco Malfoy, son of the infamous escaped convict Lucius Malfoy? Our sources indicate that it's all true._

_The photo above first appeared in the Superlatives section of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry yearbook. Fellow student, and amateur photographer, Colin Creevey, captured the image with his camera. Both Mr. Creevey and the yearbook staff insist that they did not doctor the photo in any way. Specialist Bendee Chippendale has analyzed the photo and concurs that no magical or chemical alteration has taken place._

_Anonymous sources from within Hogwarts confirm that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy have an "intense and explosive" relationship. These sources also indicate that Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy's interactions are often disruptive and usually result in the two being placed in detention together... alone. Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, upon being questioned about the duo's illicit assignation, had this to say: "Boys will be boys. Lemon Drop?"_

_Many have expressed deep concern over Harry Potter's alliances. Will the Boy Who Lived to Defy the Dark Lord turn dark himself? A source close to Mr. Potter claims that: "If he's shagging that slimy, Slytherin snake, either Malfoy cursed him or Harry's a bloody traitor."_

_Is Harry Potter looking to become the next Dark Lord with Draco Malfoy as his flamboyantly gay Consort? This reporter shudders to think so. _

_For more on Lucius Malfoy, see "1997's 10 Hottest Minions of the Dark Lord; #1. Lucius Malfoy: Criminally Flash, or just Criminal?" page 6_

Harry turned calmly to his supposed best friend, who was currently shoveling syrupy grits into his mouth.

"So, Ron," he began, not noticing that the Great Hall had fallen silent to listen in. "Have a chat with any bug-eyed reporters lately?"

It was the chorus of gasps in surround sound that alerted Harry they had an audience. He eyed his fellow students' vulture-like expressions with revulsion.

The redhead choked on a mouthful of grits, sending a shower of white goo on Seamus and Dean. "Don't know what you're on about, mate," he mumbled, poking his fork into a fat sausage.

"Oh?" Harry repeated, voice deceptively calm. "So it wasn't you that spoke with Rita Skeeter behind my back?"

Ron shook his head rapidly, eying his housemate with growing concern, and a healthy dose of fear.

"Harry," Hermione admonished, looking back and forth worriedly between the two. "Ron would never do that. It must have been someone else."

The raven-haired wizard smiled, showing too many teeth. "The sentiment is awfully familiar, Hermione."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"_Slimy, Slytherin snake_?" he quoted. "I've only ever heard one person characterize Malfoy in those exact words."

The witch cringed, remembering. "But, Harry," she protested. "You can't trust anything that nasty woman publishes! She twists things all around."

Harry trapped Ron with his gaze. "Yes," he conceded, "that's true. But the quotes are real. She twists the presentation to taint them, but she got 'slimy, Slytherin snake' from _somewhere_." He paused. "Didn't she, Ron?"

The redhead fidgeted under his best friend's lethal expression. This was Harry's Boy Who Breaks Things face. Pulling himself up, he drew on his righteous anger and blustered, "If you're a ferret-loving freak, then you deserve for the world to know." He paused, gulping for air. "I'm your best friend, mate, and all this time you've been fucking a bloody _Death Eater_ behind my back!"

The vultures hovered closer on all sides, fascinated with the newest confrontation between two-thirds of the rapidly disintegrating Golden Trio. Draco, holding court over the Slytherins, felt a pang of unwanted empathy for his nemesis. Why did Potter insist on allowing riffraff to question his motives? The Slytherins, as a general rule, believed _nothing_ that they didn't see with their own eyes. They could catch him with the Golden Boy's dick in his arse, and they'd simply assume their Supreme Overlord had some higher purpose for his actions.

"Draco Malfoy is not a Death Eater," Harry said finally.

Draco was puzzled. Why was _that_ the part of Weasel's allegations that Potter focused on? Why would Potter bother to defend him?

"What?" Ron exclaimed, shocked. Apparently he thought it was suspect behavior, as well. "Everyone knows he's a bloody Death Eater, mate. You've said it yourself."

"Well, I was wrong," Harry replied calmly.

Ron momentarily forgot to breathe, so his only response was an unfortunate-sounding wheeze.

"Malfoy might _become_ a Death Eater, just as any of the rest of us might, but he isn't one now," the raven-haired wizard explained.

The redhead remembered how to use his lungs. "What the bloody hell are you on, mate?" he demanded. "Malfoy sucks your knob a few times, and suddenly he's Joan of Arc?"

Harry sighed. "No," he said patiently. "Malfoy's a bleeding narcissistic pillock, but he's not a Death Eater."

"It runs in the family," Ron insisted belligerently. "Like father, like arse-munching son."

Harry's emerald eyes glowed with barely restrained rage. "I see," he hissed. "So that means _Sirius_ was a Death Eater, and Peter Pettigrew was loyal to the Light. I'm glad you and logic are on such good terms."

Ron ignored this. "What's happened to you, mate?" he asked, voice defeated and long-suffering. "You used to know what was what."

"Merlin's Bloody Balls, Ron! I was an arrogant, prejudiced child. Pardon me for growing up." Harry ran an agitated hand through his hair.

Ron glared. "Well pardon _me_ for not leaping for joy that the precious Boy Who Lived's being led 'round by his wanker."

Harry grew very still, like a serpent waiting to strike. "That's enough," he whispered harshly. "I can see what's important to you, and it's not me." The lights in the Great Hall began to flicker.

Exit Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley: Center Stage.


	8. Chapter 8

A week passed, in which Harry and Ron didn't speak, and Hermione fretfully tried to bridge the gap. Every day, the _Prophet _had a new article examining in full detail every possible cause for Harry's 'erratic' behavior. The worst part for Harry and Draco, and the grand irony of the whole debacle, was that their epic rivalry now sputtered and gasped like a fire without oxygen. The juiciest bit of gossip each had been able to glean about the other in _years_ couldn't be used due to their mutual involvement.

Thus, they continued to glare and make suitably scathing comments, but they never drew wands or fists, because everyone was _watching_. Not to catalogue their bruises and tally points in their never-ending war, but to catch some hint of their torrid affair. Rabid eyes peeled for longing looks and stolen snogs, and their ardent fascination tainted everything.

Ten days after the world got their first view of the illustrious photo, the strange tension between Harry and Draco came to a head. Harry was racing down the hall, late for Charms, when a student came barreling around the corner, heading in the opposite direction. They collided and went sprawling in a disheveled heap of limbs and textbooks.

"Just bloody fantastic, Potter." There was no mistaking that aristocratic drawl.

Harry pushed himself to his feet and started gathering his belongings. Malfoy was still sprawled awkwardly on the floor, so he instinctively offered a hand to help him up. This seemed to enrage the Slytherin further, because his face discovered a new shade of pale, and he slapped Harry's hand away.

"That's all we bloody need; a photo of us _holding hands_," Draco snapped.

Harry glared defensively. "I was just trying to help, you prick."

"If that's your idea of helping, Potter, I'll just throw _myself_ off the cliff, thanks, and save you the trouble." Draco stood under his own steam, and began to pluck invisible lint from his robes.

"Is there any need for you to be such a smarmy bastard?" Harry wondered aloud.

Draco sneered. "Yes, as it happens, there is. This whole bloody mess is your fault, you know."

"What are you on about?" The raven-haired wizard took a step closer to his rival, bringing them face-to-face, green eyes locking with gray.

The Slytherin raised a perfectly groomed brow. "If you kept your Gryffindors in line, Creevey never would've taken that photo," he alleged.

"_Kept them in line?_" Harry repeated incredulously.

Draco took a menacing step closer. "You heard me."

"I'm not their _king_, and they're not my bloody _subjects_," Harry exclaimed, indignant at the insinuation.

Draco smirked. "Keep telling yourself that, Potter."

"I'm not a bloody tyrant!" Harry hissed, voice low and sibilant. "I don't pretend to own them, which is why they're loyal to me; something _you_ wouldn't recognize if it slithered up your arse and died!" He closed the distance between them; their bodies were mere inches apart.

"Loyal?" the Slytherin Prince parroted. "Is Creevey meant to be an example of this loyalty? Or Weasel?" He chuckled bitterly. "You delude yourself into believing that life runs on the honor system, Potter, but it doesn't."

Harry raised his hands in supplication, a mocking expression on his face. "_Ooh_, a Life Lesson from Draco Malfoy. I see the error of my ways," he sniped sarcastically. "I should've blinded Colin and taken Ron's tongue for their disloyalty."

"Perhaps." Draco's expression was deadly serious.

Harry's eyes widened. "You're the one that's deluded, Malfoy. You can't just get rid of everyone that disagrees with you. Soon enough there won't be anyone left."

"And _you_ can't just let them nail you to a bloody cross every time they need someone to blame," the Slytherin snapped.

Harry blinked, slightly derailed by the obvious allusion to Muggle Christianity.

"Knowledge is power," Draco drawled, by way of explanation. "The point is; you've got a martyr complex wider than a hippogriff's prick. What's going to happen to your _loyal_ subjects when your luck runs out?"

"Is that a threat?" Harry demanded, glaring blackly at his nemesis.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I _mean_, when you trade your life for a Kneazle's, like the right heroic ponce you are, what're all those worthless Muggle-lovers that follow you blindly going to do?" Draco clarified.

"They'll find someone else to follow," Harry retorted. "But they won't be dead or Crucio'd into oblivion like any poor sod that follows _you_. At least I want to help people; you just want to help yourself," he accused.

"That's a fucking lie!" the Slytherin growled, laying a slim, threatening hand on Harry's chest. "I protect my House, because no one else bloody will."

Harry laughed darkly. "Right, at the expense of being turned into mindless automatons. I'm sure that's just what the Gryffindors want. To sodding _lock step_."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "They expect you to lead them, to fucking _save_ them, but you're not willing to do what it takes." He gave Harry a small shove. "_You don't have the balls_."

Harry shoved back, and suddenly they were tussling and throwing punches willy-nilly. Draco took a solid hit to his right eye and Harry's lower lip busted open, crimson blood dribbling down his chin. He landed a blow to the Slytherin's abdomen, but in the process couldn't defend against the left hook aimed for his ear.

Draco slammed Harry's back into the wall, effectively driving the breath from his lungs. The Gryffindor ducked into a crouch to dodge the next blow and wrapped his arms around his rival's waist. Then, he kicked off the wall behind him and shoved the Slytherin bodily into the opposite wall, keeping his own form pressed close to trap him.

Draco gasped for air, raising his stormy gray eyes to meet Harry's with a grimly triumphant smile. The Gryffindor grabbed his flailing wrists and trapped them against the wall above their heads.

"_Oh, I have the balls_," Harry hissed.

Out of nowhere, Colin's picture popped into his head, and he couldn't help but wonder what _this_ moment would look like immortalized on film. Suddenly he could feel every inch of his body that was touching Malfoy's. He could see the pale, flawless skin framed by silvery-blond locks, and the many shades of gray that made up his irises. A surge of unexpected heat rushed through his core at the Slytherin's prone position. He froze, bewildered.

When Potter trapped his arms above his head, Draco felt the atmosphere between them shift. Instantly, he was very aware of the suggestiveness of their position, and the fact that their bodies were pressed together tightly. They'd both topped off at five-foot-ten, and the similar make of their Seeker-sleek bodies left them perfectly aligned. When he saw the sudden heat add golden flecks to Potter's emerald eyes, he nearly gasped out loud.

"_Holy fuck_," Harry muttered, like a mantra, as he dropped Malfoy's arms and stepped hurriedly away. Malfoy just stared at him, gray eyes wide and haunted. "Um… class," the Boy Who Lived In The Closet offered, in lieu of fleeing. Then he fled.


	9. Chapter 9

'What the buggering fuck was that?' Draco thought frantically as he lost touch with his pride and ran, pounding feet echoing through empty stone hallways, away from the scene of the crime. One minute he'd wanted nothing more than to beat Potter to a messy pulp, and the next minute he was suppressing the urge to taste his lip blood. It was entirely that bleeding Golden Boy's fault. If he'd just kept better control of his pathetic lackeys, Creevey never would've taken the photo, and he, Draco, wouldn't have to deal with _that_ image popping up every time he caught a glimpse of raven hair.

The whole bloody Wizarding world wouldn't be watching them and hedging their bets about who topped. Like it wasn't obvious, anyway. Anyone with half a brain could see that, with Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, it'd be decided on a fuck-by-fuck basis that they'd battle tooth-and-nail over every time. Neither one would ever agree to be fully submissive to the other… His thoughts trailed off lecherously, finding it all too easy to amend the infamous image to suit his fantasies.

"_Bloody buggering fuck_!" he shouted aloud, lashing out with one fist to strike the wall in a very un-Malfoyish manner. The sensation of warm blood on his knuckles soothed him.

"You called?" Blaise inquired, appearing, seemingly from nowhere, at his side.

Draco was miffed. _No one_ managed to sneak up on him. Ever! Damn Blaise for catching him at a weak moment. He'd expected the halls to be empty caverns just waiting to absorb his rage. Speaking of…

"What are you doing out of class?" he demanded archly. They both had History of Magic this period.

Blaise smirked. "In a word? Pansy."

Draco waved his hands frantically in disgust. "Enough said!" he protested, not wanting to hear another word about it.

The dark-haired Slytherin raised a brow. "I'm guessing she didn't achieve her goal, then?"

"Goal?" Draco echoed.

Blaise chuckled. "She shagged me to make you jealous," he explained.

Draco shuddered, grimacing. "Oh, that's _wretched_," he moaned. Once he'd recovered from his wave of revulsion, he asked, "Why'd _you_ shag _her_?"

He shrugged. "She was there." He eyed Draco curiously. "What were you screeching about, anyway?"

The Slytherin Prince glowered. "Malfoys don't _screech_."

Blaise shook his head. "Right then. What were you… raging manfully about?"

"_Potter_," Draco spat, that one word speaking volumes.

Blaise nodded sympathetically. "He wanted to top?" he filled in.

Only years of practice kept Draco from exploding like Weasel. Unfortunately, Blaise's words conjured up the feel of Harry pressing him into the wall, bodies perfectly aligned from shoulder to hip... Summoning up his best Malfoy glare, he murmured disdainfully, "not as such."

"So, _you_ were on top?" Blaise asked, eying him speculatively.

"Merlin's Hairy Bollocks!" Draco growled, silvery-gray eyes blazing. His friend instantly backed away. It wasn't wise to piss off a Malfoy. One usually left such dangerous things to Harry Potter.

"Just kidding?" he offered.

Draco pinned him in his gaze, eyes glittering and dangerous. "Potter might let people walk all over him, but he's a bleeding-heart Gryffindor."

Blaise winced, looking appropriately chastened. "Sorry, mate."

Draco nodded stiffly, and they continued in silence to History of Magic. Binns didn't appear to notice that they'd arrived thirty minutes late.

Harry had hoped to slide unobtrusively into the Charms classroom. Hermione had been nice enough to save him a seat, but unfortunately she'd chosen to sit at the front of the classroom like the diligent student she was. He could only thank Merlin that Malfoy didn't have Charms this period, so they didn't have to walk in together and set the school in an uproar. He didn't even want to guess what nasty conclusions everyone would jump to.

'Like the fact that you wanted to lick the soft flesh on the underside of his wrists?' his mind pointed out tactlessly.

He ruthlessly shoved the encounter from his thoughts, focusing on Hermione's questioning gaze. The brunette fixed him with her chocolate eyes and raised a questioning brow.

"Where were you?" she whispered, when Flitwick paused to scribble frantically on the board.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Malfoy," he spat, allowing that one word to explain everything.

"Oh Harry," the witch replied, but Flitwick resumed his lecture, so she didn't elaborate. The set of her jaw told him he'd be on the receiving end of a different kind of lecture later about his bad habit of getting into tussles with his nemesis. Given how grateful he was that she was sticking by his side through this fiasco (unlike certain flame-tressed traitors), he couldn't find it in himself to begrudge her motherly instincts.

He was too keyed up to focus on Flitwick's foray into the history of some obscure Charm. Normally he would've held a hushed conversation with Ron, but the redhead was sitting with Neville and they still weren't speaking. He scowled. Like Malfoy had any call blaming this all on Harry. If Malfoy weren't such a bleeding arsehole, they wouldn't have been fighting in the first place, and Harry wouldn't have that horrid image blooming in his head in Technicolor at the slightest provocation.

He could only imagine what his classmates would make of their confrontation today. What the bloody hell had possessed him to trap those damnable, pale wrists above Malfoy's head? At the time, he'd been willing to do anything to get the upper hand, but in retrospect, that one move implicated a whole new, unexplored pathway of interaction. Those wide, stormy gray eyes had caught and matched the sudden heat in his own before Harry managed to escape.

Lost in thought about how soft Malfoy's platinum tresses looked up close, Harry completely forgot where he was. Which was, of course, the moment that Flitwick chose to call on him.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, would you care to hazard a guess?"

Harry jerked to attention. "His wrists are ugly!" he shouted. Blinking rapidly, he belatedly realized that he'd spoken those words aloud, in front of _everyone_. "Um," he stammered over a wave of laughter and calculating stares from his classmates.

"Would you please answer the question now, Mr. Potter?" Flitwick prompted, peering impatiently over his glasses at his wayward student.

"Um," Harry hedged, having absolutely no idea what the question was. He looked desperately at Hermione for help. She made a series of complicated hand gestures that made no sense. Resigned to being wildly off base, he murmured, "Reducto?"

Flitwick frowned. "No, Mr. Potter. You cannot Charm a glass figurine to dance by blowing it up."

"Right," he muttered, conceding defeat. His classmates helpfully exploded with laughter.

Harry kept his eyes trained on his desk for the rest of the lesson, seething. This was all Malfoy's fault, with his wrists, and eyes, and shiny hair. Bloody pillock.


	10. Chapter 10

A week had passed since the latest incident. By silent, mutual agreement, Harry and Draco were avoiding each other as much as possible. Their classmates only interpreted this to mean that they were involved in a lover's spat, and within a day, the whole school knew what Harry had shouted in Charms. Even Draco, who responded by retreating to his room to inspect the limbs in question for any sign of imperfection. To his vast relief, his wrists were still as lovely and elegant as ever.

It was halfway through dinner when Dumbledore rose to his feet. Seeing the Headmaster stand at attention, eyes set to maximum twinkle, many students groaned inwardly and despaired of the inevitable bad news.

"Ah, students…" he began genially, causing even the first years to cringe. "I have a bit of an announcement to make."

"Filch prefers me in pink knickers, and his prick tastes like Lemon Drops," Seamus parroted, doing his best Dumbledore impression.

Harry choked on his pumpkin juice and glared. "Thanks for _those_ images, mate."

"Well, you and Malfoy can't be our _only _source of naughty imagery," Dean pointed out helpfully.

Harry shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering image. "Filch and Dumbledore together is _nasty_, not naughty. Unless you've got some dirty old man fetish I don't know about." He raised a brow.

Seamus and Dean both blanched.

"You know," Seamus murmured softly. "I think for once we've gone too far…"

"Hear hear," Harry agreed heartily, raising his goblet in a toast. "To not knowing when to shut the fuck up!"

"Cheers!" Dean smiled, touching his goblet to Harry's.

Seamus, not to be outdone, called out, 'Cheers!" and joined them.

Taking in their surroundings, the trio suddenly noticed that the entire school, staff and students alike, were staring at Dumbledore in abject horror.

"Oh right, the Old Coot was talking," Seamus remembered.

Harry grimaced. "Don't think I want to know what he said."

"Hear, hear," Dean murmured.

"Oi, Neville," Seamus said. "What'd Filch's pink-knickered Love Kneazle have to say?"

"EW!" Harry protested.

"Double EW, Shay," Dean chided. "Shut it down."

Neville regarded them with considerable confusion. "What are you on about?"

Harry translated. "What'd Dumbledore say that's got everyone's," he paused to wink at Seamus, "_pink knickers_ in a twist?"

"Hear, hear!" Seamus cried.

Neville chuckled. "You lot are mad, today." Then, he sobered. "The Headmaster says that, in light of the dark times we face, we need a bit of cheering up, so he's scheduled a Yule Ball for everyone fourth year and up."

Harry frowned, taking in their classmates' gobsmacked expressions. "As long as we're not obligated to go, and I don't have to bloody dance, it's not that big of a deal…"

"That's not all," Neville explained warily, wondering if the news would cause the Boy Who Lived to start stabbing random people with cutlery. "It's mandatory, everyone has to dance, and in the interest of promoting inter-House cooperation, we all have to go with someone from another House."

Three voices were simultaneous in their exclamation of, "_Bloody Hell_!"

At the Slytherin table, Pansy Parkinson let out a loud, and rather unladylike, screech at the news. Then, she completely upset the mealtime Slytherin hierarchy by shoving Crabbe out of the way so she could get close to Draco. Which just went to show, really, how inept Vincent was as a bodyguard. Gregory was even worse, considering that he was currently double-fisting drumsticks, face covered in treacle tart, and had yet to notice the upset. The Slytherin Prince sighed long-sufferingly. You'd think his father would've done a bit of research before assigning these two buffoons to protect him. Then again, seeing as Lucius wasted his time chasing after that mad, half-blooded twit, Draco really shouldn't expect better judgment.

"Dray, did you hear?" Pansy whined, leaning into his personal space and daring to touch a sacred arm.

He rolled his eyes, moving rudely out of her reach. "No, Pansy, I've unexpectedly lost the use of my ears."

"What?" Her face scrunched up unattractively.

Draco couldn't quite cover his sneer. "_Yes_, I heard."

"This is just awful!" she cried desperately. "It means we can't go together."

"Hmm," he mused. "What a Greek Tragedy."

"What?" Her face scrunched up unattractively.

Draco glared at Blaise, who was gleefully watching the exchange. "I suppose the Old Coot wants the Houses to get along," he offered lamely, inwardly leaping for joy over having a solid reason not to go with Pansy to the Ball.

Pansy was under the mistaken supposition that they were getting married the minute they graduated, and thus it was automatically assumed that they'd attend every Hogwarts event together. As Draco would rather brand '_I Heart Voldemort_' on his balls than marry Pansy, he'd vowed that the bonding would never take place. It would require all his Slytherin cunning to make it so, however, and for now he kept his cards close to his chest.

The girl in question was fuming. "Just wait until my father hears about this!" she snarled. "That Old Coot won't be Headmaster for long!"

Blaise burst out laughing.

"What?" Her face scrunched up unattractively.

"We're on the brink of _war_, Pans, and you're going to bother dear old dad about a school dance?" He raised a brow. "You'll be lucky if he doesn't decide to try out his best hexes on _you_ for practice."

"I can't believe this," Harry huffed. "It's inhumane to force students to attend a Ball, and _dance_, for Merlin's sake!"

Dean nodded. "This whole fiasco's more likely to start an inter-House war of jealous girlfriends and boyfriends." He glanced sideways at Seamus.

"I'll be taking a _girl_, Dean," Seamus pointed out quietly. "The thought of getting into her robes is more disgusting than imagining Dumbledore in his pink knickers."

Dean smiled.

"Who the fuck am I supposed to ask?" Harry wondered aloud. "In case you haven't noticed, I don't have the best of luck with girls from other Houses."

Ron overheard him and glared. "Don't pretend you're not thrilled for the chance to take your pet snake." In his mind, this was all Harry's fault. He'd probably asked the Headmaster to make up the rule about inter-House dates just so he could be with Malfoy, and thus screw up Ron's chance to ask Hermione.

"Ron, give it a rest, would you?" Harry pleaded, not having the energy to get into yet another tussle with his supposed best friend.

The redhead's eyes widened. "So, you admit it!" he shouted, drawing all eyes to their table.

"Ron…"

"You're really shagging that slimy git! You probably set this whole thing up so you'd have an excuse to take him to the Ball."

Ron stood, and Harry rose to face him. A cold wind began to gust through the hall.

"Why're you being such a fucking prick?" Harry demanded. "What's crawled up your arse and died recently?"

"You!" Ron snarled.

Harry grimaced. "First of all, _EW_! Second of all, you're the one that ran off to bloody Skeeter, not me. I haven't done anything to you!"

"You've taken up with a _Malfoy_," Ron accused.

"I haven't taken up with anyone!" Harry shot back. "It's all bloody rumors and speculation." He paused. "Then again, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you'd choose to believe rumors over _me_." His voice matched the cold and bitter wind that whipped around him. Lights began to flicker, and the false ceiling grew stormy and dark.

"I certainly _hope_ you haven't fucked him; he's a disgusting, slimy snake," Ron sneered. "But you didn't deny it, and then you bloody defended him! He's a _Malfoy_. You don't defend them, you rid the world of their taint."

Professors Snape and McGonagall rose in tandem, thinking it was time to head this off at the pass. Snape was just itching to slap Weasley with detention and take House points. Dumbledore raised a staying hand to detain them. The two Heads of House shared a disgruntled glance over the Headmaster's bizarre behavior, but obeyed. Reluctantly.

A light went on in Harry's head. "So, that's what this is all about? His bloody _surname_?"

Ron glowered. "The Weasleys and the Malfoys have been at war for years. By defending him, you've betrayed the entire Weasley family," he declared.

Harry's body grew still, a position belied by the harsh wind and flickering lights. "Let me get this straight. Anyone that doesn't openly declare their hatred for the Malfoys has betrayed your family?"

"Yes." The redhead looked proud and defiant, happy that his friend finally understood and was preparing to apologize.

The Boy Who Lived arched a brow. "So, by that logic, Dumbledore himself has betrayed the Weasley family by allowing Lucius and Draco to attend Hogwarts," he concluded. All eyes turned briefly to the Headmaster, who wisely said nothing.

"What?" Ron's face scrunched up unattractively.

Harry was on a roll. "I find it interesting," he sneered, "that the Weasleys, who don't stand for pure-blooded bigotry and nonsense, would stoop to upholding a wizard's Grudge."

"Harry's right," Ginny spoke up, resolved not to allow her sense of loyalty to Ron keep her from doing the right thing. "We can't condemn the practices of other pure-bloods and then suddenly invoke them when we find it useful. It's hypocritical."

Harry's smile of thanks lit the room, and lessened the storm raging in the Hall's false ceiling. Hermione laid a comforting hand on his forearm, but felt that interfering would only make things worse.

Ron's face grew splotchy with rage. "What the bloody hell are you on about?"

Ginny sighed, unhappy that the entire school was avidly watching the latest episode of the Weasley vs. Potter show. "It's wrong of you to call on that Grudge. Not to mention that the Potters have never taken any formal oath on the Weasleys' behalf, so you can't accuse Harry of betraying the entire family by defending a Malfoy."

Ron exploded. "Lucius fucking Malfoy gave you the diary that nearly got you killed!"

"Exactly!" Ginny agreed. "Which is why I'll hate Lucius until the day I die. But I won't hate _all_ the Malfoys, nor will I expect anyone else to. Sounds a bit too Tom Riddle-ish for my taste."

Ron's eyes bulged comically, or perhaps not so comically if you were one of the many blood vessels that ruptured. "But Gin, Draco Malfoy was _raised_ by Lucius. There's no bloody way he won't turn out just like him!"

Harry's emerald eyes began to glow. "I see," he hissed, interrupting the siblings' interchange. "So, that means I'm doomed to slap my child around and call him a freak and lock him in a bloody cupboard?" He swore in Parseltongue, sending tingles up and down a certain Slytherin's spine. "That's how Vernon raised me, right? So that's what I'll be, an abusive, bigoted sodding ingrate! By that logic, we wouldn't be having this conversation, because Arthur Weasley is one of the noblest men I've met." The Hall went utterly silent, and all that was left was Harry's voice. "How nice that the world is so fucking black and white for you, Weasley."

"What?" Ron's face scrunched up unattractively.

"Too complex for you?" he sneered. "Let me make it simple. I'll be like Vernon the day Tom Riddle wears a cowboy hat and hugs a fucking Muggle."

"He's Draco bloody Malfoy, Harry." Ron turned his glare on the Slytherin table. "Look, he's sitting there laughing his arse off at you right now."

Draco cleared his throat. "Actually, Weasel, I'm laughing my arse off at _you_," he drawled. "You're the one set on making a spectacle of yourself."

Ron turned back to Harry. "He's made our lives bloody miserable for years!" he exclaimed. "And now you want to be, what, _best friends_?"

Harry eyed Draco up and down speculatively, causing the Slytherin to shiver against his will. "Well, I don't want to braid his hair or paint his nails," he murmured. "But, what I _also_ don't want is to treat him like an enemy any longer. War is upon us; my dance card is full."

"Then why don't you just suck his bloody knob and be done with it!" Ron blustered. "Since you clearly want to so badly."

He didn't expect Harry to nod briskly, say, "Right, then," and move toward the Slytherin table.

"BLLIDDY FWMRRKIN VRELL!" Ron shouted. Regaining his faculties, he added, "Think, Harry. You can't be a decent bloke and take up with a Malfoy."

"A decent bloke like you, Weasley?" Harry uttered softly, dangerously.

"Yes!" he blustered. "He's a bleeding _Slytherin_. They're all Death Eater scum! I know you've got a sodding hero complex, but he's evil through and through. Bad blood will out!"

Harry eyed him thoughtfully for a long moment, wondering if he realized just how much he sounded like a fat, prejudiced Muggle, and then calmly approached the snake House. Dropping to one knee in front of a wide-eyed Slytherin Prince, he said, "_Draco_, would you do me the honor of being my date for the Yule Ball?"

Said Slytherin, knowing instantly that he could get Weasel and Parkinson in one blow, rapidly calculated the odds of this aiding his endeavor to extricate himself from his impending nuptials. A sideways glance at Blaise caught the dark-haired Slytherin regarding Potter with something akin to respect. Meeting the pair of ludicrously green eyes that awaited his answer, Draco bobbed his head briefly and murmured,

"Why yes, _Harry_, I will."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: In the last chapter, I accidentally referred to the Ball as a Yule Ball, when I meant Valentine's Ball. All apologies!

Previously on Superlatives: _Meeting the pair of ludicrously green eyes that awaited his answer, Draco bobbed his head briefly and murmured,_

"_Why yes, Harry, I will."_

Utter silence reigned in the Great Hall. Despite the rampant rumors, every single witch and wizard there was stunned by the latest turn of events. The Boy Who Lived had invited the son of Voldemort's right-hand man to the Ball, and he'd said yes!

Draco smirked. It wasn't often that one had the means to stun an entire school into silence. Potter was still kneeling in front of him, looking rather wide-eyed himself over Draco's acceptance. The Slytherin Prince leaned forward a bit in his seat.

"This would probably be a good time to make a dramatic exit," he pointed out calmly.

Harry blinked. "Right." Glancing around at their slack-jawed audience, he snickered. "I like them much better this way."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's lovely Potter, but we might want to leave before the shock wears off."

"Right," Harry repeated. Meeting Draco's eyes, he murmured, "Synchronized Snape Swoosh on three?"

Draco nodded curtly and began to count off on his fingers. On the third beat, they rose as one and turned to stalk gracefully toward the door, robes flaring fabulously around them. The Great Hall finally exploded to life in their wake, and they fled prudently out the front doors of the castle.

"So," Harry murmured rather uncertainly, as they stood catching their breath in the chilly evening air.

"Don't think this means we're friends, Potter," Draco drawled, leaning casually against the side of the building.

Harry smirked; discomfort vanished. "Left field, meet short stop."

"Pardon?"

"Baseball," Harry explained. "Yanks are mad for it."

Draco sneered. "A _Muggle_ sport."

The Boy Who Lived grinned. "Last time I checked, Layne Staley, Jerry Cantrell and Chris Cornell were Muggles." He glanced sideways at his nemesis, causing Draco to sneer.

"I think they're wizard spies," the Slytherin decided after a thoughtful pause.

Harry burst out laughing. "Thanks, Malfoy. That's the first good laugh I've had in a _long_ time."

Draco arched a brow. "They're spreading goodwill and brilliant music to the unwashed Muggle masses."

On the verge of lashing out at his rival's callous words, Harry met his gaze. Draco's eyes had that 'storm clouds passing over the sun' look again. He tilted his head, assessing. "I get it," he murmured.

"Get what, Potter?" Draco demanded defensively.

"You." He met Draco's challenging glare, but didn't elaborate. "So, tell me something, Malfoy. What do you gain by going to the Ball with me?"

"It was a perfect opportunity to get Parkinson and Weasel in one blow," he responded, as though it should be obvious.

Harry trapped gray eyes with green. "That can't be it," he denied. At Draco's incredulous look, he smirked. "You already got Ron by laughing at him, and the best way to get Pansy would be to take a girl to the Ball and publicly snog her."

Draco scowled. "You're not meant to be this bloody observant."

"So?" Harry prodded with a grin. "What's the real reason, Oh Master Slytherin?"

Draco watched him thoughtfully. Potter didn't seem to object to being around Draco to further his own ends. His plan, which had been hatched in the wake of the infamous photo, would work better if Potter cooperated.

"I've come to realize that it would benefit me for the Wizarding world to believe I prefer men," he said carefully.

Harry frowned. "Why?"

Draco smirked. "Let's just say that it's the only way to avoid fully adhering to Malfoy tradition without being fully disinherited or killed."

As he came to understand the implications, Harry's eyes widened. Leaving aside Draco's apparent political one-eighty, he asked, "So, am I correct in assuming that Pansy is part of that _tradition_?"

The Slytherin grimaced. "Yes. We're set to be wed immediately following graduation."

Harry processed this. "EW!" he squicked with a disgusted shiver.

"Too bloody right," Draco replied vehemently.

Recovering himself, Harry questioned, "why me?"

"Firstly, because _this_ situation fell into my lap. Secondly, because you're already at the top of the Dark Lord's bloody hit list. Being associated with me couldn't possibly put you in _more_ danger," Draco explained. At Harry's incredulous look, he snapped, "Despite evidence to the contrary, Potter, I'm not actually interested in getting anyone maimed or killed on my behalf."

The raven-haired wizard smirked. "Unless you do the maiming yourself?"

"Naturally."

Harry considered. "What exactly do you want from me?"

"Well, the Wizarding world is doing a remarkable job at taking care of most of it," Draco replied. "You asking me to the Ball in the middle of dinner was bloody genius, really."

Chuckling, Harry eyed the Slytherin with amusement. "Draco Malfoy pronouncing a half-arsed, Gryffindor plot _genius_?" He backed away slightly, looking nervous. "Is your head going to explode?"

"Fuck off, Potter," Draco snapped.

Harry raised a lecherous brow. "Really? But I thought we were just here to _talk_."

"EW!" Draco screeched (ahem, _raged manfully_), leaping away from his nemesis. "If you even touch that zipper, I'll hex your bits France!"

Harry took one look at Draco's beet-red face and thoroughly ruffled appearance and burst out laughing. Possibly not the wisest choice considering that said ruffled wizard pulled out his wand and aimed it shakily at him. The Gryffindor laughed harder.

"_France_, Malfoy?" he gasped. "The worst place you could think of to send my bits is to France?" He leaned against the side of the castle for support. "I think they'd like it there. All those, hot, French blokes…" he trailed off dreamily.

"Merlins' Hairy Balls!" Draco growled, eyes gone dark in a telltale sign of his rage.

Harry, having often been the one to cause such a condition, noted it instantly. "You're giving me Merlin's balls to replace my own while they're in France?" he inquired innocently.

Draco pressed the tip of his wand into Harry's chest. "Shut the fuck up about balls, Potter," he ordered.

"You brought it up," Harry pointed out. "We were having a nice conversation about my level of genius, and you decided to talk about my balls, instead."

The Slytherin glowered. "I did not…" he started, but then trailed off ineffectually as he realized that he had, in fact, been the one to bring it up. Shaking with rage, he placed his left hand on Harry's chest and shoved him hard against the wall he was leaning against.

Harry held his hands up in supplication. "Look Malfoy, I'm just not ready for this yet," he pleaded, green eyes meeting gray with crystalline earnestness.

Pausing, Draco demanded, "Ready for what?"

The raven-haired wizard lowered his eyes demurely. "I know we're gay lovers now, but I'm not ready for the hot, sweaty man-sex," he murmured.

Draco shouted inarticulately, dropped his wand, and slammed Harry bodily into the stone wall. Harry gasped for breath and struggled to get away. The Slytherin's fist came screaming toward his face, so he ducked instinctively, causing said fist to collide with the wall behind him.

"BUGGERING FUCK!" Draco yelled, waving his fist around madly. "You bloody ducked you fucking coward!"

He kicked out wildly, getting in a lucky hit against Harry's left knee, causing the Gryffindor to pitch forward, howling with pain. His hands reached out to Draco's robes for support and both wizards tumbled gracelessly to the ground. They rolled across the grass together, arms flailing for purchase, until Draco managed to come out firmly on top.

He was crouched on Harry's chest, trapping the other wizard's arms firmly to the ground and smirking triumphantly into his face. Pinning both arms with one hand, Draco drew back his fist, ready to blacken Harry's eye. Harry chose that moment to kick out with his legs, ramming a bony knee into the Slytherin's back.

"FUCK!" Draco snarled, moving his body back instinctively to settle over Harry's hips to stop them from bucking. He pressed his full weight down to trap him.

That's when Harry stopped fighting.

Gray met green warily, looking for an explanation, but the Slytherin stopped short when he noticed the telltale golden flecks in his rival's eyes. All at once he took full stock of their position. Their well-matched bodies were flush from hips to chest and Draco's arms held Harry's trapped above his head. It was a complete reversal of their last fight, only this one was horizontal, and Draco could feel the weight of gravity pressing his body tantalizingly into Harry's.

The Gryffindor's dark hair was thoroughly tousled, and his cheeks were smudged with dirt. His eyes glowed with a mixture of defiance and confusion. He had bit cleanly through his bottom lip at some point during their fight, and the sight of bright red blood against swollen flesh struck Draco to the core. Nothing could have stopped him from lowering his face slowly toward Harry's, watching those emerald eyes widen fractionally.

Tilting his head slightly to one side, Draco licked the offending bottom lip from one corner to the other. Harry's soul-rending groan sent shivers down his spine, so he leaned in further and took the abused lip into his mouth and sucked gently.

The sound of several cameras flashing in unison brought them rudely back to the real world. Draco blinked several times and sat up, working madly to regain his composure. Harry still lay dazedly on his back beneath him, brain not processing on the higher levels. Annoyed that he'd get no help from that front, Draco was about to submit the whole lot of gawking onlookers to the full force of his Malfoy glare when he remembered that this situation actually worked in his favor. Instead, he pasted on a sheepish, 'aw shucks' look and smiled. Several Hufflepuffs fainted.

Harry, panicking, sat up quickly, causing Draco to gasp audibly. Turning a half-lidded gaze on the crowd, Harry succinctly muttered, "Er…" Then, he turned back to Draco, leaning forward so they could have a whispered conference. "So, is this the type of press you were hoping for?" he murmured dryly.

Draco chuckled, gray eyes lightening. "You're too much of a Slytherin for this not to benefit us _both_, Potter."

"Touché."

Draco leapt gracefully to his feet, holding out a hand to help Harry up. "Why Potter, I didn't know you spoke French."

Harry smirked, completely ignoring the gaping crowd. "Well, _parts _of me have a great appreciation for the French culture," he replied evenly.

The Slytherin met his eyes, lips quirking. "How lovely," he drawled. As they walked calmly to the doors of the main building, he added, "Did you know that Saturday next is a Hogsmeade weekend?"

Harry raised a brow, suspicious about where this was going. "Yes, I did know that, Malfoy."

"Wonderful. Then, we'll meet in the Great Hall at ten o'clock." Draco smiled benignly.

The raven-haired wizard shuddered inwardly at his nemesis invoking Dumbledore's mad twinkle. "What for?" he demanded.

Draco paused briefly in front of the hallway that would lead him to the Slytherin dungeons. "Why, to shop for our dress robes, of course!" He eyed Harry speculatively. "You didn't think I'd let you handle the fashion decisions for such a momentous event as our first public appearance on your own, did you?"

"What? Malfoy! No!" Harry protested.

Draco smirked. "Don't worry, Potter. I'm sure it won't take too many days to find something suitable." He turned smartly on his heel and walked away.

Harry groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "What have I gotten myself into?" he murmured.


	12. Chapter 12

"What have you gotten yourself into?" Hermione demanded of Harry the minute they were alone.

She'd purposefully outlasted every boisterous Gryffindor in the common room, and through stern looks had headed off any attempts on Harry's part to sneak upstairs to the boys' dorm. Colin Creevey had been the last straggler, obviously hoping to get a close-up of Harry swooning in the aftermath of the latest Potter n' Malfoy Love-In. Only when Hermione threatened to castrate Colin's camera did the youth scamper reluctantly off to bed.

"Well, I'd think that's rather obvious," Harry replied irritably, wanting nothing more than to have a bit of privacy to reflect on his latest encounter with his nemesis/partner-in-crime/partner-in-lusty-lip-sucking.

Hermione glared reproachfully. "What's _obvious_ is that you've gone and gotten yourself in over your head," a meaningful pause, "again."

Not surprisingly, this uncharitable comment did little to improve the raven-haired wizard's demeanor. "So, it's not possible that I know exactly what I'm doing?" he questioned peevishly.

"You never know what you're doing, Harry," she asserted. "You just dive head first into situations, and hang the consequences."

Harry winced. "Gee, Hermione, tell me how you _really_ feel."

The witch released a longsuffering sigh. "Have you even thought about the consequences of what you're doing?" she insisted. "The whole Wizarding world thinks you're in a relationship with Malfoy, and you're doing nothing to deny it!"

"'Mione…" he interjected.

She held up her hand to stop him. "No, Harry. You need to hear this. At first I thought you were just shaking things up, rattling Ron, maybe trying to use the photo to come out to the school. But do you realize what's going to happen when Voldemort hears about this? To say nothing of Lucius Malfoy! If they have reason to believe these rumors, they'll be after you both!" She paused for breath. "Did you even think about that?"

Harry stiffened. "Gosh, Hermione, I plum forgot about the psychopathic madman that's been after me for my entire life," he snarked. "As for good old Lucius, I figured that we'd let bygones be bygones after I sent him off on his adventure cruise to Azkaban." He stood and began pacing in front of the fireplace.

"Harry…"

"No! It's my turn now." He turned to face her angrily. "What do you bloody _think_ those two fucks have wanted to do all these years?" he demanded. "Invite me over for a game of Ma Jong and a pedicure? No… They've wanted me dead for my entire bloody life! So tell me, Oh Wise One, what exactly has changed?"

Hermione's eyes gleamed with purpose as she pulled out her trump card. "You might not care about your own life, Harry, but now you've callously put Malfoy's life in danger, too."

Harry burst out laughing. "Right, because _Draco Malfoy_ would take part in something that didn't directly benefit him." His voice oozed sarcasm. "He might not have had a say in the initial photo, but his every move since then has been perfectly calculated." A sudden image of Malfoy losing all control and licking the blood off Harry's bottom lip made him add, "Well, mostly. But even that turned out in his, and incidentally _my_, favor."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione looked confused, for precisely the third time in her entire life, the first two of which occurred while still in the womb.

Harry scowled. "Me? Oh, not much. Just the real facts about this situation that you might've learned had you simply _asked_ me what my motives were rather than sinking so low as to dredge up my past mistakes. Mistakes that I think I've paid fucking dearly enough for, thanks." He strode rapidly toward the stairwell. "Good night, Hermione," he called flatly over his shoulder, leaving a flummoxed witch all alone by the dying fire.

Draco entered the Slytherin common room thirty minutes later, once he'd cooled down and prepared himself for facing his House. Everyone Fifth Year and up was waiting, gathered in the chilly space, and they'd obviously been talking about him. He was highly disturbed that recent events had caused such an upheaval as to provoke his well-trained housemates into discussing Draco while he wasn't present.

It angered him, and, added together with his frustrating (on _so_ many levels) encounter with Potter, put him in a highly volatile mood. The only thing that stopped him from flinging hexes willy nilly was the fact that, while they were clearly breaking precedent and having a House meeting without him, and _about_ him, no one had dared to sit in his seat by the fire.

He settled himself grimly into his chair, harsh Malfoy glare showing them all exactly what he thought of their actions. By their universally guilty and submissive looks, he realized that the situation wasn't quite as bad as it looked. It was clear that the meeting had occurred spontaneously when he didn't immediately return to the dorm to tell them what to think about that evening's events.

Pansy raced over to him straight away. "Oh, Dray, you won't believe it!" she squealed. She placed a proprietary hand on his knee, eyeing the other girls in the room triumphantly, until she caught a glimpse of his icy expression.

"Kindly remove your hand from my knee or I'll be forced to remove it from your arm," he murmured, voice pitched low and dangerous.

Pansy removed the hand as unobtrusively as possible, trying to make it appear that it had been her idea. "Dray," she whispered loudly. "We're to be married in a few months, what will people think if you don't let me touch you?" The sound of Blaise coughing loudly filled the silence.

Draco grinned and several of his housemates shivered. "Indeed, what _will_ they think?"

Pansy eyed him petulantly. "Dray, they're saying the most _awful_ things about you!"

"Oh?"

Pansy looked too ill to continue, so Blaise helpfully filled in, "They're saying you and Potter were snogging outside the castle." He winked lecherously.

Draco considered. "And who, exactly, are '_they_'?" he questioned.

The self-proclaimed Slytherin Princess sneered. "Just a bunch of Mudbloods, Dray. Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors…"

"And Ravenclaws, Oh My!" Blaise finished.

Theodore Nott cleared his throat to gain their undivided attention. "Slytherins, too," he said challengingly. "Such as myself, Crabbe and Goyle." He paused to watch Draco's face, poised for any sign of weakness. He'd been looking to dethrone the Prince for years, and had finally found the perfect opportunity.

Draco eyed him with detached amusement. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Nott asserted. "Bulstrode was there, too."

Silvery-gray eyes looked to Millicent, who withered under his gaze. "You saw this, too?" he demanded. Turning to include Vince and Greg, he raised a brow.

"Well," Millicent hedged. "It was dark out, it's hard to say exactly what I saw."

Vincent nodded. "Looked to me like you were kicking Potter's arse."

Nott snarled. "And the part where they started snogging?"

Gregory frowned. "Reckon Draco bit Potter's lip to shut him up." Every Slytherin in the common room nodded in agreement with that assessment, save an enraged Nott.

"I suppose all of you missed dinner, then, when that half-blood freak asked Draco to the Ball, and Draco agreed?" he accused.

All eyes turned to Draco and several Slytherins shrugged. "I'm sure Dray had his reasons," Pansy spoke for all of them. In a hushed voice, she added importantly, "He's in close contact with _You Know Who_."

Draco suppressed a triumphant smile, keeping his face bored and unaffected. He really _could_ get caught with his knob up Potter's arse and they'd assume it was for the greater Slytherin good. Sighing inwardly, he mentally debated just how to handle this next part, which was tricky. He knew for a fact that not all of his housemates were loyal to the Dark Lord, but what he didn't know was whether this was enough for him to keep control of the House should he attempt to instigate a Slytherin revolt.

The only way it would work, even for those that had already come to realize the Dark Lord was a fucking snake-faced halfwit, was if he had some way of protecting them. Plus, most weren't willing to be disloyal to their families, despite their personal feelings about said halfwit. It was a fucked up situation, and Draco vowed to work on it if he could get himself through the next few minutes without losing his position as Slytherin Prince.

Blaise was eyeing him knowingly; making use of that extremely irritating habit he had of discerning precisely what was going on in Draco's mind. Luckily, Blaise was an actual _friend_, and had no designs on his position of leadership. Feeling suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude, he winked slightly for the dark-haired Slytherin's benefit, and received a real smile in return.

"I saw what I saw tonight," Nott insisted, rather desperate now that the confrontation wasn't going his way.

To their eternal surprise, Draco replied soothingly, "Of course you did."

"Huh?" Nott muttered intelligently, caught completely off guard.

"You saw what you saw," Draco replied. "Even I can't deny you've got eyes, Nott. Quite a lovely shade of blue, in fact."

"What are you saying?" Nott asked cautiously. Draco was the epitome of a Slytherin snake. Even his housemates never quite knew when and how he'd strike.

Draco's face was a perfect blank. "If you say you saw me snogging Potter, then it _must_ be true."

Nott inwardly flinched. His sense of self-preservation demanded that he retreat. "It _was_ dark," he conceded, watching Draco warily for some sign of approval.

The Slytherin Prince tightened the noose. "So, you're saying that I _didn't_ snog Potter?" he clarified.

"It's hard to recall what I saw," Nott murmured, placating. He'd thoroughly lost the plot and couldn't quite tell what Draco wanted him to say. Wrong move.

"Because I certainly recall _you_," Draco drawled, "busy as I was." He paused. "When I looked up from sucking the blood from Potter's lower lip, you were standing not five feet away looking _most_ satisfied and vindicated." He lowered his voice intimately. "Did you like what you saw, Theodore?"

Nott shrank back as though expecting Draco to literally sprout fangs and strike. The rest of their housemates were watching the duo carefully, catching every nuance of their interaction. Pansy, due to her misguided sense of propriety over Draco and subsequent imagined immunity from his rage, didn't temper her response.

Her voice shook with indignation and disgust. "Are you saying you were really caught _snogging Potter_?" she demanded, playing up the part of the wounded girlfriend for their housemates.

"I thought that was rather obvious, love," Draco said blandly.

Pansy's shriek was so nail-bitingly long and loud that St. Mungo's was thereafter flooded with patients who'd hexed off their own ears to escape the torture. Voldemort instituted the very first Death Eater holiday in her honor, and, most inspired, began to fashion himself a necklace made of Muggle ears.

The entire common room had gone silent, though whether this was due to trepidation or temporary deafness is anyone's guess. The fact that half of the Slytherins were lying unconscious on the floor with blood leaking out of their ears might've had something to do with it.

"We're betrothed!" Pansy screeched. Draco and Blaise, who'd anticipated the earsplitting shriek, were the only ones that heard her.

Draco pinned her with his Super Turbo Malfoy Glare 2000. "I beg to differ."

Pansy withered, but stood her ground. "We're to be bonded in just _months_, Dray," she simpered triumphantly. "I don't know what sort of plan you're carrying out for the Dark Lord by seducing that disgusting half-blood, but it ends now! I won't stand for it!" She placed emphatic hands on emphatic hips.

Blaise burst out laughing. "Oh Pans," he gasped. "You're the best fucking show in town." As an afterthought, "I can't believe I shagged you; I feel dimmer by association."

"Clearly, there will be no bonding," Draco stated, meeting Pansy's eyes firmly.

She glared. "What kind of master plan is this, anyway?" she demanded. "Why don't you just AK Potter's arse, and give his body to the Dark Lord as a trophy?" She looked rather excited at this prospect.

"This isn't about Potter," Draco replied, and then amended, "Well, it _is_, but not in the way you think. I'm not seducing him for the Dark Lord."

"Then why?" she questioned, nasal tones grinding like fingernails on a cauldron.

Draco prayed to Merlin for patience. "I'd say that's rather obvious."

Pansy eyed him with considerable confusion. "So you're just trying to out Potter for the homo he is to humiliate him?"

Draco looked at Blaise, who was struggling manfully to rein in his boundless mirth. Taking a moment to rapidly calculate the best method to cross the personal and political tightrope he'd stepped out on, he decided that balls-to-the-wall was the only way.

The Slytherin Prince eyed his erstwhile Princess with bemusement. "I can think of one _very_ good reason to seduce Potter," he murmured, adding a wink for good measure. Surely the vapid cow couldn't misinterpret _that_.

"Revenge for your father?" Pansy edged closer, looking perilously close to pouncing into his lap. As their housemates were finally gathering their wits and watching the exchange warily, Draco thought chances were good that someone would notice if he Transfigured her hands and feet into hooves and gave her a nice, swishy tail.

Sighing weightily, Draco went for broke, banking on the fact that the other Slytherins would assume he had a super-secret reason for shagging the Boy Who Lived. "Half the school caught me sucking Potter's lip blood because I'm gay," he explained slowly, for the benefit of certain addlebrained twats.

Pansy stopped short, face turning pale gray while her lips turned purple. "What?" she screeched, getting all up in his face. She grabbed a handful of his robes and started to shake him for good measure. "_We're_ _betrothed_! It's all planned out! Purebloods are _never_ faggots!"

Draco Malfoy lost his temper. His calm, chilly demeanor and careful calculations were tossed by the wayside. "I'm fucking _gay_, Parkinson!" he shouted, shoving her off and leaping to his feet. "I'm a bloody shirt-lifting, knob-sucking, trouser-dowsing _arse-bandit_!" Everyone stared, but Draco was on a roll. "I'm gay! Gay with the dick-on-dick action! Gay with the hot, sweaty man sex!" He waved his arms around for good measure.

"_What_?" Pansy's face scrunched up unattractively. Then, she lunged for Draco's eyeballs, razor-sharp claws a-slashing.

From his bed up in Gryffindor Tower, Harry thought, 'Good to know _that_ went well.'


	13. Chapter 13

Harry was on his way to Potions when a hand reached out of an empty classroom, grabbed his robes, and yanked him inside. Quickly, he whipped out his wand to face his attacker. Just as quickly, he realized that he couldn't see shite.

"_Lumos_." He held his wand out before him, searching for the identity of the arsehole that was currently making him late. Falling into a defensive position, he readied himself to fight.

"Ease down, Potter," a familiar voice drawled.

Harry relaxed only slightly, still thrown by the darkness of the classroom. "Malfoy, what the fuck?"

"No hello? I'm hurt." Draco illuminated a wall sconce, bathing the room in a flickering yellow glow.

Sighing, Harry put away his wand, and then wondered when the hell he'd started feeling safe enough around Malfoy to do so. "You _do _realize that we're both late for Potions now?"

Draco raised a brow. "Why no, Potter, as it happens I'm an utterly Gryffindorish imbecile."

"That explains a lot," Harry grumbled. "My point is, why are we here?"

"So we'll be late for Potions," Draco replied succinctly.

"Pardon?"

Draco sighed. "You, me… late for Potions."

"Yes, but _why_?" Harry demanded.

"So we'll be seen entering the classroom _together_," Draco explained. "Incidentally, we'll need to look more… debauched, too."

He eyed Harry critically. "Are you capable, Potter, or is it against some Gryffindor Code of Chastity?"

Harry smirked. "Considering what the two of us wind up looking like every time we fight, I'd say I'm capable."

Their eyes met and held.

"Good to know," Draco murmured somewhat breathlessly, his traitorous mind instantly supplying the taste and feel of Potter's lips.

"So…"

"It's been two days, Potter, and we've done nothing to validate the rumors of our affair," Draco said.

Harry frowned. "Even after the show we put on outside? The photos have been in every paper."

Draco nodded. "We must provide continual proof. My parents and the Dark Lord will not believe rumors and a few photos that could be doctored or misinterpreted."

"Right," Harry agreed. "Why will it matter so much to Snake Pants?"

Draco scowled. "As Pansy put it so pithily last night, 'purebloods are _never_ faggots'. While Snake Pants may actually be a half-blood, he and his Death Eaters uphold the credos of the Inbred, Uptight Pureblood Society of Fascists. Meaning no trouser-dowsers in the club."

"And you've no wish to be part of said society?" Harry wondered.

"Yes, Oh Dense One, I've no wish to become a Serpent-worshiping Fascist," Draco snarked. "I mean, please, have you _seen_ those masks? Not to mention that utterly tacky tattoo."

Harry nodded curtly, refusing to show how much it meant to him that he wouldn't meet his nemesis on the battlefield one day. "So, gay then."

"Hence the two of us, late for Potions, and thoroughly debouched," the Slytherin concluded.

"Right." A pause. "How exactly do we go about the debauching part?"

"Merlin, Potter," Draco sneered. "Are you four years old? Do you need a fucking diagram?"

Harry glared. "I guess after last time, I shouldn't be surprised how eager you are to get your hands on me."

"_What_?" Draco growled.

"I'm just saying," Harry said with an innocent smile, "that you're positively gagging for it."

Draco's response was to step forward and shove Harry into the wall behind him. "I'll show you _gagging_," he snarled.

Harry laughed wildly, heart thumping in his chest. His head was throbbing from its run-in with the wall, but as he met Draco's stormy gray eyes, he'd never felt more alive. He shoved Draco hard, and the Slytherin tripped over his feet and landed with an ungraceful thud on the floor. Harry followed, pinning him down and grinning victoriously. Without stopping to think, he leaned in and trailed his tongue over Draco's lips. When the lips in question parted on a gasp, Harry took the bottom one in his mouth and bit down hard.

Rising abruptly to his feet, he looked down at his prey with a smirk. "Like I said, gagging."

Draco sprang up from the floor in a rage and tackled Harry back into the wall. "_You fucking mangy, shirt-lifting bastard_!" he shouted. Trapping the raven-haired wizard against the wall with his body, he crushed his lips against Harry's ruthlessly. Then he bit a trail down the side of his neck and sucked angrily at his throat. Coming back to himself, he abruptly let go and backed away.

Harry watched him dazedly, allowing the wall to hold him up. Taking in the sight of a disheveled Draco with flushed cheeks, a swollen lip, and robes all-askew, he chuckled wryly. "Well, I think we passed 'debauched' three exits ago."

"Whatever, let's go," Draco snapped, heading for the door.

Harry trailed after him silently until they were outside the Potions classroom. "You know, it'd probably be more convincing if you looked a bit less… murderous."

Draco's glare was quelling. "Oh really?" he countered. "I'm fairly certain they think we get off on the violence."

"Don't you?" Harry asked with a fiendish grin.

Draco stopped short. "_Merlin's Freckled Sack_, Potter!" he growled. This was the point where any sane person, such as Blaise, would've backed off. Harry chose to stay right where he was, grinning recklessly. "I do _not_ get off on it!"

"Oh?" Harry questioned, stepping right up into Draco's personal space. He tilted his head. "You don't have our every encounter burned into your devious little Slytherin brain?"

Draco answered with a left hook. Harry staggered backwards, flailing his arms. "I can't do this, Potter," he gasped raggedly, "You're driving me absofuckinglutely batshit!"

"Fuck," Harry hissed, struggling to keep his feet.

Draco advanced on him, noting the bright red mark on the left side of Harry's chin, the rapidly bruising lips. Bruised lips… Slamming Harry into the door behind him, he snarled, "Get out of my head, Potter!"

The raven-haired wizard threw back his head and laughed with abandon. His emerald eyes met Draco's in challenge. "Make me," he hissed sibilantly.

Something inside Draco broke. He pressed his lips angrily against Harry's open mouth, swallowing his hiss greedily. Needing desperately to dominate and subdue his maddening nemesis, he plunged his tongue into Harry's mouth. Harry gasped, allowing him further entry. Draco was reeling in his sense of triumph when Harry suddenly groaned into his mouth and wrapped his arms around Draco's waist, pulling their bodies flush.

That's when the door opened and sent them both tumbling to the floor just inside the Potions classroom. Snape stood above them, glowering with malice. "Incidentally, that's not how you open the door," he sneered.

Harry and Draco looked up from their tangle of limbs to see the entire Advanced Potions class gawking at them. The sound of a camera snapping pictures shattered the silence. Snape's head whipped around to extend his glower to the guilty party, Terry Boot.

"You witless fool!"

That's all he got out before every cauldron in the room exploded in an artful concert of varicolored slime. In light of the coming war, the seventh years were currently studying the assorted Truth Serums, and ways to augment them. Thus, half of the room had brewed a basic Truth Serum, and the other half had brewed a Disinhibition Serum. They soon got a hands-on demonstration of the two potions' combined efficacy.

"Hermione's got great tits," Ron proclaimed, "but Lavender's are better."

The witch in question squealed. "So it's like that, is it?" she hissed. "Well, at least I don't have trouble performing!" A roomful of students gasped.

"You little know-it-all bitch!" the redhead shouted. "Your hair looks like a fucking bird's nest; do you even _own_ a comb?"

"A comb makes it worse," Hermione admitted, and then slapped a hand over her mouth. Eyes narrowing, she added, "I personally think your performance troubles have less to do with my hair and more to do with your _obsession_ with Snape!"

Ron glowered. "It's not my fault that your voice makes my testicles retreat in terror and _his_ voice makes me cream in my pants!"

Absolute silence met this revelation.

"I feel violated, Weasley," Snape burst out. "Red hair is such a turnoff."

The redhead deflated. "But Snapie, I give great head! I've been practicing on a blowup doll that I Charmed to look like you."

Snape shivered in disgust. Pulling on his long years of practice, he managed to throw off the effects of the potions before he announced something crucial --- like the fact that he didn't actually work for the old Red Eye. Or that he had a penchant for blond Malfoys named Lucius.

"You're such a bloody hypocrite," Seamus exclaimed, glaring at Ron. "You spout off all this fucking homophobic nonsense at Harry, when really you're having illicit little fantasies about Snape!" He paused. "Not that Snape isn't fucking sexy as hell with that sneer and that voice, and I can just imagine him dressed in leather, whip in hand…" He trailed off, catching Dean's rather violent expression. "But none of that matters because I'm in love with Dean!"

Now all eyes were on the Gryffindor duo, shocked.

Dean looked ready to rip into Seamus for outing them, but then his boyfriend's words sank in. "You… you're in love with me?" he asked softly.

Seamus nodded miserably.

A brilliant smile broke out on Dean's face. "But Sea, I'm in love with you, too! Don't feel bad about lusting a bit after Snape. I've always had a secret fantasy about Harry on all fours in front of me, begging for it… but it's _you_ I love."

Harry swallowed hard. "Um… Dean… am I wearing stilettos and a purple silk teddy in that fantasy?"

The other boy's eyes widened. "How did you know?"

"I've had the same one. You're wearing a bowtie and girls' crotchless panties."

Draco growled from his place on top of Harry. "Potter, you're fucking _mine_ until I don't want you anymore." He'd meant to say 'need' damn it! He also hadn't meant to come across as a jealous lover.

"Don't worry, Malfoy," Harry sneered. "All you have to do is _look_ at me and my entire body burns for you." Then he flinched, mentally smacking himself. What the hell had been in those potions?

Seamus and Dean started making out on top of the desk, causing Snape to spring into action. He cast a spell, sending them to opposite sides of the room, and ordered, "Everyone to the hospital wing, _now_!" Turning to Harry, he added, "I'll think long and hard about this until I'm clear on exactly how_ it's all your fault_. One hundred points from Gryffindor and detention for eighty years."

"You must really _like_ me, Severus," Harry murmured, and then viciously bit his own tongue.

"Out!" Snape bellowed. "All of you out! Someone with half a brain can explain to Pomfrey what transpired here. I can't stand the sight of you lot for another second."

"That's such a load of fucking bullshit!" Neville exploded. Strangely, this was by far the most shocking thing that had happened yet.

Snape glowered threateningly. "What was that, Mr. Longbottom?"

"You're a sneering, prejudiced smarmy git! You like to act the part of the dominatrix bitch, but you secretly want to be mastered!" Neville announced. "You should be castrated for your appalling behavior, not to mention your appallingly greasy hair --- _and_ you smell like sulfur!" He paused to draw breath. "Someone should take you in hand and paddle you like the needy, puling little Sub you are."

"Another one hundred points from Gryffindor!" Snape vociferated, shaken. "And detention until you graduate."

Neville nodded briskly. "Good, I've a suitable whip."


	14. Chapter 14

"So Harry, got a hot date with _Draaaaaco_?" Seamus purred. He plopped himself down on Harry's bed and watched him rummage frantically through his wardrobe.

"What?" Harry asked distractedly, as he discarded shirt after shirt, fabric flying every which way.

Dean joined them. "You usually just grab the first one that comes to hand," he pointed out calmly.

"That's what I'm doing," Harry defended.

Seamus burst out laughing. "Then why am I surrounded by a sea of shirts?"

Harry glowered. "Those shirts… don't fit."

He got two sets of raised brows for an answer.

"You know how Malfoy is," he muttered. "It's already going to be such a pain shopping with him, to say nothing of his bitchy attitude about my lack of fashion sense.

"Sounds like you've got yourself a real, live boyfriend, mate." Seamus and Dean chuckled, and Harry glared at them darkly.

"Don't even start," he growled.

The duo looked at each other and then back at Harry.

"_You_ do it, love," Seamus prodded his boyfriend.

Nodding, Dean pushed Harry aside and began sorting through the remnants of the raven-haired wizard's destroyed wardrobe. Turning to stare appraisingly at Harry, who was presently wearing nothing but his boxers and socks, he finally shook his head in defeat.

"You're right," he said with a sigh. "You've nothing in here that actually fits you." He paused thoughtfully and went to his own wardrobe, pulling out a pair of dark blue Muggle jeans. "Put these on," he instructed, tossing them to Harry. Then he procured a black, long-sleeved t-shirt.

Once Harry was dressed, they watched him attempt to flatten his hair.

"Don't do it, mate!" Seamus groaned. "You've got that perfect, sexy, just-been-shagged hair, it just needs a bit of help."

Dean came at him with a bottle of hair gel.

Harry backed away, hissing.

"Sit," Dean ordered, and waited for Harry to drop reluctantly to his shirt-strewn bed. Then, he carefully used the gel to bring a bit of order to the chaos. "There," he pronounced fifteen minutes later. "Now it looks like you've done it this way on purpose."

Harry blinked. "I _have_ done it this way on purpose."

"Exactly."

Confused, Harry decided to let it drop. After pausing to add trainers, he stood decisively. "Right then, I'm off."

"Oh, Dean," Seamus cooed. "Our little Harry's all grown up and going out on dates!"

Dean smiled benignly. "Now, Sea, we knew this would happen one day."

Seamus thumped Harry on the back supportively. "Just remember: wrap it up, play it safe."

"_Seamus_!"

Harry ran for the door and the sanity of the world beyond. Then, remembering that he was meeting Draco Malfoy to go robe shopping for their date to the Valentine's Ball, he realized sadly that you just couldn't find a good bit of sanity anywhere these days.

Thirty minutes later, Harry came to a skidding halt in front of the Great Hall. The staircases had chosen Harry as today's victim, and after several hair-raising, Hogwarts-style near-death experiences, he had a monstrous case of vertigo. His hopes for stopping off in the hospital wing for a headache potion were cut short by Malfoy's seething glare.

"You're six minutes late," he accused.

Harry sighed, rubbing at his throbbing head. "Don't suppose we've time to see Madame Pomfrey?"

With a scowl, Draco replied, "Fashion waits for no man, Potter."

"What about a wizard then?" Harry begged. "A wizard that's likely to yak on fashion's shiny shoes."

Draco scrutinized him carefully. "Staircases?" he questioned.

"Staircases," Harry confirmed. "They're a bloody menace."

Nodding regally, the Slytherin declared, "Well if fashion will wait for anyone, it'd _certainly_ be a Malfoy."

"Is that a yes?" Harry groaned, struggling to contain his nausea.

"Yes, but if you vomit on my Hinckaby Rothbergs, I'll make you lick it off," Draco warned.

Harry clapped a hand over his mouth. "Errrrrrrgh…"

As they made their way rapidly through the halls to the hospital wing, students stopped and stared. A group of third year Hufflepuffs swooned at the sight of the yearbook's Cutest Couple. One of them stepped bravely forward with the infamous photo.

"Could… would you sign this?" she murmured shakily.

Draco bared his teeth in response. "Potter, feel free to direct your spew in their general direction." It wasn't clear whether it was the sight of Draco's shiny white teeth or Harry's shiny green face that sent the Hufflepuffs huffing and puffing down the hallway post haste.

Draco ushered Harry into the hospital wing, and Madame Pomfrey came bustling out of her office, tittering.

"Mr. Potter, what've you gotten yourself into this time?" she demanded long-sufferingly.

Harry looked terrified at the prospect of opening his mouth and blowing chunks all over the nice Medi-witch, so Draco spoke for him.

"Staircases," he explained, and Pomfrey nodded briskly.

"Right then. _Sit_, I've just the thing." She directed him to the bed and disappeared.

Draco moved away from the bed, turning his face to the door. "Don't expect me to hold your hair back when you retch vile fluids all over the floor," he warned.

Harry groaned, and probably would've lost his breakfast, but Madame Pomfrey returned at that moment with a vial of steaming liquid. She held it under Harry's nose and instructed him to inhale. When he eyed her warily, she snapped,

"You can't possibly be expected to _swallow_ anything right now, can you? Breath in."

He complied, and the greenish tint to his face faded just a touch.

"Better?" she asked, placing a hand against his forehead. He nodded. "Drink it down, then."

It tasted absolutely appalling, but within minutes his nausea and vertigo had fully receded, as had his headache. "Thanks," he said gratefully.

"No matter." She shooed them to the door. "Have a care with those staircases!"

Harry moved to join Draco, and the Slytherin looked him up and down suspiciously. "No chance of retching then?"

"Nope, I'm good to go," the raven-haired wizard promised. Then, recalling precisely where they were headed, he reconsidered. Maybe he should've played this up to get out of shopping.

Draco raised a brow. "Not a chance, Potter. You're not weaseling your way out of this." A pause. "Get it? _Weaseling_?"

Harry pulled a face, heading for the door. "Yes, yes, I get it, you're a bloody genius."

"I'd suggest you not attempt sarcasm, Potter," Draco advised. "It's beyond you."

As they moved away down the hall, bickering, Madame Pomfrey shook her head. "Just like an old married couple, those two."

"Malfoy," Harry whined desperately. "We've been here for _four_ hours."

"You don't fool me, Potter," Draco retorted. "Everyone knows how much you like being up on a pedestal."

Which was exactly where Harry had been standing for ages, in naught but his boxers. "How many different types of fabric can there be?" he asked wretchedly.

Draco responded to this bit of nonsense with a glare. "We can't turn up at the Ball looking anything less than perfect." He paused, staring thoughtfully at the navy swatch of fabric in his hands. "Of course, considering what I've got to work with," he waved a hand at Harry's reflection in the mirror, "one can't expect miracles."

"It'll be a miracle if I don't rip your balls off and shove them down your throat, Malfoy," Harry snapped, causing the seamstress to glare disapprovingly at him.

"I know," Draco commiserated with her. "He's such a heathen. However," he eyed Harry up and down, "there are certain… compensations."

Harry's face burned, and he had a sneaking suspicion that if Draco didn't stop leering at him with those dark gray eyes, he was going to get an erection, right here in front of God and Seamstress. Not to mention Malfoy. When the Slytherin stepped regally up onto the pedestal next to him, Harry frowned.

"Why do _you_ need to get measured? You come here every day," he pointed out. Under his breath, he muttered, "Fashion whore."

"That's every _week_ to you, Potter," Draco said haughtily. Then, casting a significant glance at their positions, given that his pedestal was higher than Harry's, he smirked. "I always knew I was meant to be above you."

Harry decided to fight fire with fire. "_Above_ me, Malfoy?" he questioned in a low, intimate tone. "That's where you've wanted to be all this time? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised given your recent behavior." He was supremely satisfied when Draco's cheeks pinked.

"Fuck off, Potter."

Harry suppressed a grin, widening his eyes dramatically. "Right here? In front of Camille?" He cast an eye at the seamstress, who looked ready to bolt from the room.

Draco glowered. "Your mouth is going to get you in trouble one of these days," he warned darkly.

Emerald eyes trapped stormy gray in their gaze. "Oh, I'm counting on it," Harry murmured.

Drawing on his inflated sense of Malfoy propriety, Draco ignored the heat flooding through his body at the utter hotness of a boxer-clad, defiant Harry Potter gazing so intensely at him. This involved quickly stepping down from the pedestal once Camille had finished checking his measurements, and thrusting a set of dress robes in Harry's direction.

"Put these on," he ordered. Swallowing, he added, "It'll give you an idea of what your outfit will look like, but the real one will be custom made, and in a different fabric." Camille handed Draco a close replica of his own outfit, and he fled to a curtained stall to change, vainly attempting to purge his thoughts of golden skin and long, slim limbs that begged to be touched.

The Boy Who Lived to Suppress His Gayness, meanwhile, had fled to another stall, yanking the curtain shut behind him. Seeing Draco stripped down to nearly nothing was wreaking havoc on his senses. It was one thing to feign being a couple, and taunting Draco with their rage-induced lusty interactions, but quite another to be so utterly turned on by the Slytherin's body on its own merits.

He'd been able to pass off his attraction thus far as the thrill of facing a worthy opponent. But now… It was as though stripping them down physically had stripped him down mentally as well. There was no mistaking his raw attraction to Draco's lithe and toned form. He looked like he'd been carved from ivory, but Harry knew from recent experience that the cool-looking flesh actually burned hot when provoked.

They both stepped tentatively from their stalls, eyeing each other warily before moving to stand in front of the magical 360-degree mirror.

"Why do we look like an ode to Slytherin?" Harry demanded, latching on desperately to the first opportunity to pick a fight that he could. Indeed, it was true. They both wore black robes with black trousers and vests. Harry was wearing a green shirt underneath while Draco's was silvery-gray.

"Because Slytherin colors are far superior," Draco said snottily, just as eager to cover his attraction with combativeness. "I wouldn't be caught dead in _gold_."

Harry glared. "Granted, the gray looks good on you. But you couldn't have picked something more neutral for me, like blue?"

Brought to the breaking point by a combination of unwanted lust and complete aggravation, Draco snapped. "I put you in green because it looks bloody amazing on you!" he snarled. "It's your best color." He grumbled, "Stupid emerald eyes."

The raven-haired wizard was speechless. "Oh," he managed finally, the fight taken out of him. "Right then."

Draco nodded regally to Camille. "I believe we're done here," he announced, and then fled back to his stall.

Hinckaby Rothbergs: A posh (and completely made up) line of men's Wizarding footwear.


	15. Chapter 15

Ron wasn't anywhere on the Map, so Harry decided to try one of their favorite spots in a copse of trees by the lake. As he'd thought, the redhead was sprawled out on the ground, staring at the cloudless sky. Harry sat down next to him, but Ron did nothing to acknowledge his presence, and Harry wasn't sure which was worse, the yelling or this weighty silence.

"Thought I'd find you here," he said finally.

Ron didn't look at him. "Good on you, mate," he said sarcastically.

"Look…"

"So which is it then?" Ron interrupted. "Come to laugh at me, or come to be the heroic Boy Who Lived and save the dirty freak?"

"What?" Harry bit out, shocked. "What're you on about?"

Ron smiled bitterly. "Ah, Boy Hero it is, then."

"I came to find you because we haven't been able to have a real conversation in weeks," Harry said. "We've both said a lot of fucked up things, but I still want us to work this out."

"Are you coming on to me, Harry?" Ron asked nastily.

Harry glared. "No, it would seem I'm not your type."

"Fuck you, Harry Potter," the redhead spat.

"Look, I shouldn't have said that," Harry said apologetically.

Ron chuckled. "Oh no, say on. Tell me all about how I'm a dirty sodding shirt-lifter, but you're the hero and you'll keep me on as your sidekick out of the kindness of your heart."

"If you hadn't noticed," Harry said tightly, "I'm having an illicit affair with Malfoy, with the pictures to prove it."

"What about it?" Ron spat. "That's just a ruse. You probably found out about Seamus and Dean and decided to _out_ yourself to make being a faggot fashionable. Thus appeasing your sodding hero complex."

Harry frowned. "Even if that _was_ my motive, why would it matter?"

Ron jumped to his feet and glowered down at Harry. "Because you can just go back to being your perfect straight little self when it's all over, and everyone'll say, 'Oh Harry, such a hero, such a _martyr_, sticking up for the homos like that.'"

"Ron…."

"But I'll still be a fucking dirty faggot, Boy Hero. I'll still be a disgusting little shirt-lifter," Ron growled.

Harry's eyes widened in realization. "You weren't just covering. You really _believe_ all those things you said about me, don't you?"

"Of course!" Ron's face turned red with rage. "It's unnatural and shameful. Just the thought that I'm bent makes me sick."

"It's not shameful, though. There's nothing wrong with being gay," Harry said, pleading with his friend to understand.

Ron sneered. "That's bloody easy for you to say, when you're safely straight as an arrow."

"I don't know that I am," Harry admitted softly.

"What?" Ron's face scrunched up unattractively.

Harry sighed. "At first, I reacted the way I did because the things you said were so hurtful and prejudiced. I've been a bit too busy to explore my sexual orientation, but what you said brassed me off on a _lot_ of levels. So I encouraged the rumors because I wanted to prove that there's nothing wrong with being gay. I wanted to bloody shake things up. I'm tired of people thinking they can bloody decide how my life should be, who I should befriend, and who I should fuck because of who I am."

"Poor tragic Harry," Ron said with a scowl. "It must be so painful to have the world at your feet."

Harry glared. "Could you stop being a fucking prick for a second? Are you capable?"

"Fuck you."

"My point is; both Malfoy and I had our reasons to make people think we're having hot, sweaty man sex."

Ron snorted. "What's that slimy snake getting out of it?"

"That's _his_ business," Harry said firmly, "and not my secret to tell."

"When did you and the smarmy git start getting so chummy, anyway?" Ron demanded angrily.

Harry paused thoughtfully. "We don't really get along that well, even now. But we have things in common, and I understand him."

"How very sweet," Ron said belligerently. "But that doesn't change the fact that once this is all over, you can safely go back to fucking my sister."

"That's just it!" Harry protested. "I think I might actually be gay."

Ron stared. "Tell me you're kidding, mate."

"I've never been more serious," Harry said calmly, thinking that maybe he was finally getting through to his friend. That maybe Ron would finally see him as a real person.

"And I suppose you'll say next that you're attracted to sodding _Malfoy_," Ron snapped sarcastically.

Harry didn't answer, wondering how much truth there was to that allegation. He couldn't help but remember Draco in naught but his boxers, pale ivory skin gleaming.

"I can't believe you!" Ron shouted. "How could you possibly _admit _to being a fucking faggot? And for a sodding _Death Eater_, no less!"

"Bloody hell, Ron!" Harry exclaimed. "When're you going to grow up and admit that the world isn't made up of simple, black-and-white, good-and-evil distinctions?"

Ron began to pace in agitation. "When are _you_ going to grow up and realize that he's bloody using you!"

"Of course he's using me!" Harry replied. "I'm using him, too."

"You can't be a bleeding queer, Harry," he stated. "It's _wrong_."

Astonished, Harry snapped, "What about your obsession with Snape?"

"I'll never admit it," Ron vowed. "And I'll certainly never act on it. I _know_ it's bloody twisted and revolting." He paused. "I'd suggest you go back to your safe, pre-gay little life."

"What?" Harry was livid. "You're telling me that I should pretend to be something I'm not, and spend the rest of my life unhappy because of some fucked-up sense of inane morality?"

"Yes!"

Harry leapt to his feet. "Well I won't! I'm fucking _gay_, Weasley. I'm a bloody shirt-lifting, knob-sucking, trouser-dowsing _arse-bandit_!"

Ron shoved him. "You'd better leave, Potter, before I do something you'll regret."

"You're just looking for an excuse to get your hands all over me," Harry spat. "Well, I won't give you the satisfaction." He turned away and stalked angrily back to the castle.

Harry was storming through the hallways in a black cloud of ill-concealed rage when Draco came upon him. Unable to suppress the shiver induced by his rival's dark expression and blazing eyes, Draco switched rapidly into defensive mode.

"What's crawled up your arse and died, Potter?"

"Ron," Harry spat.

Draco graced him with a look of practiced indifference. "What's Weasel done now? Did he steal your gay nudie mags?"

"Stuff it, Malfoy, I'm not in the mood," Harry warned, body still racing with adrenaline from his confrontation with Ron.

Draco smirked. "Tell me the truth," he murmured conspiratorially, "did you steal his blowup doll?"

Harry grabbed a handful of Draco's robes and shoved him roughly into the nearest classroom. Pulling out his wand, he cast Locking and Silencing Charms. The Slytherin looked confused and slightly afraid. Then Harry began to stalk his prey.

"What's this about, Potter?" he demanded archly.

"You step over the line, you pay the consequences," Harry spat.

Draco laughed, and the sound spiraled up and up, echoing off the walls. "Weasel not enough to satisfy you, Potter?"

Harry shoved him roughly against the wall. "Don't play coy, Malfoy," he sneered. "Don't tell me your blood isn't boiling for me."

"I'm not here to stroke your ego," Draco drawled, trying desperately to cover the need flooding throughout his body like a dark flame.

Harry saw the truth in his stormy gray eyes, and grinned recklessly, feeling suddenly utterly out of control. He pressed his body into Draco's, trapping him, and leaned in to brush his lips gently against his captive's, taunting.

Draco growled and bit his bottom lip roughly, but he couldn't help soothing the wound with his tongue. Harry gasped and took possession of his mouth violently, thrusting his tongue in to dominate. Draco's entire body trembled, and suddenly he was kissing back, meeting Harry's tongue with his own. He wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, pulling him closer, and Harry ran desperate fingers up into his silky platinum locks.

"Fuck," Harry gasped as they broke apart briefly for air. Green eyes met gray, admitting simultaneously that this was exactly what they both needed.

Draco hooked a leg behind Harry's knee and sent them tumbling to the ground. He instinctively reached out a hand behind Harry's head to keep it from hitting the floor, and then leaned in to take his mouth possessively. Harry moaned and returned the kiss urgently, tongues tangling. They mapped out each other's mouths, and when Draco bit down on Harry's bottom lip again, Harry arched up into his body.

Canting his hips downward to meet Harry's, their erections pressed together for the very first time through several layers of fabric. Draco groaned desperately, slipping his hands underneath Harry's body to the small of his back to pull him closer. He'd never wanted anything as much as he wanted this.

"Fuck," he cursed, needing something, needing….

Harry's hands raked down his back to cup his arse and grind frantically against him. "Less clothes," Harry ordered.

They both reached out, frenetically working to unfasten each other's robes. Harry tossed Draco's robe off to one side. Draco pulled Harry's body up and out of his robe until they were sitting, facing each other, Draco's crotch in Harry's lap, legs wrapped around Harry's waist. They kissed passionately, and Harry placed his hands on Draco's hips to pull him down hard against his crotch. Taking advantage of Draco's helpless shudder, Harry pushed his back toward the floor, coming to rest victoriously on top.

"Yesssss," Harry hissed, capturing his mouth as he ground their hips together. Draco thrust his body up to meet him, and they both groaned wildly into each other's mouths at the feel of just trousers between them. Harry broke the kiss to run his teeth and tongue down Draco's neck, biting hard against the tender flesh of his throat.

"Oh Fuck," Draco gasped in a heady mixture of pleasure and pain. He ran his fingers into Harry's hair and yanked roughly. Their lips met violently, demanding, and they ground their bodies together frantically.

Harry tensed, letting out a long, low moan. "I'm gonna…"

"Me too." He pulled Harry's lips back to his and Harry grabbed his arse, thrusting one leg between Draco's and rubbing desperately against him. "Fuck!" he gasped as he came, and Harry soon followed with a sibilant hiss.

They lay entwined for several long moments, breathing hard and waiting to come down from the clouds. Harry finally rolled to one side, resting on his back next to Draco.

"Fuck, I'm definitely gay," he murmured.

Draco couldn't help but chuckle, still bathing in the afterglow. "What a brilliant deduction, Potter." He pulled a timepiece from his pocket. "Shite, we're late for Care of Magical Creatures."

Harry struggled to his feet, reaching out a hand for Draco, and Draco instantly took it without thought. He pulled out his wand and cast _Scourgify_ on them both before straightening his clothes and fastening his robe neatly. Eyeing Harry, he noticed with a certain amount of glee just how thoroughly debauched he looked. His unruly raven hair had passed from messy to just-been-yanked-on-by-a-desperate-lover. Then, remembering that _he_ was the lover in question, he sobered.

Meeting Harry's green eyes, he said, "Potter, tell me the truth." A pause. "How's my hair?"

Harry took one look at him and burst out laughing.

"Oh Merlin, is it that bad?" Draco screeched (read: raged manfully), running questing fingers through his platinum locks.

"Your hair's fine, Malfoy," Harry assured him with a grin. "Looks a bit… tousled, but that's what we want, right?"

Draco considered. "So it looks sexily ruffled and not like a Kneazle's?"

"Well, I prefer 'tousled' to 'ruffled', but yes, it's sexily so." Harry cheeks pinked as he glanced at the hair in question.

Draco was nonplussed. "Er, right then. Thanks."

They began to make their way through Hogwarts, relieved that class was in session, so there were no gawking students loitering about.

"Think Hagrid'll give us detention?" Draco wondered as they left the castle and headed for the field behind his hut. They could see their classmates, ranged around a corral holding what appeared to be an actual flying reindeer.

"Dunno," Harry replied. "Probably not, and if he does it won't be that bad."

Draco smirked. "Plus it's worth it; you, me showing up late for class again and suspiciously rumpled."

Grinning, Harry said, "At least there're no dodgy potions this time."

"Too right."

Harry glanced sideways at his nemesis. "Malfoy, are we actually having a civil conversation?"

Draco paused, and then met his eyes mischievously. "Well you did just give me a fantastic orgasm. It's hard to think too harshly of you at the moment. Give me an hour to let it pass."

"Your _best_ orgasm?" Harry wanted to know.

"Merlin, must you always be so competitive, Potter?" Draco complained. "Yes, if you must know, it was my best orgasm." A pause. "However," he smirked, "considering that it was the first one not caused by my hand, that really doesn't say much." Then he reddened as he realized what he'd just admitted.

"A virgin, Malfoy?" Harry taunted. "How quaint."

Draco sneered. "Oh stuff it, Potter. You know it was your first time, too."

"Touché."


	16. Chapter 16

It was the night of the Valentine's Ball and Gryffindor Tower was in an uproar. Loud squeals and cackles could be heard from the girls' dorm, and the boys' dorm was filled with rowdy teasing. Ron had gotten ready as quickly as possible and left his morally corrupt housemates behind. Harry was standing in front of a mirror in naught but his new trousers, eyeing them concernedly.

"What's wrong, mate?" Seamus asked, stepping up behind him.

Dean and Neville immediately crowded 'round, curious.

"Is that your whole outfit, Harry?" Dean taunted. "Because if so, you'll be the belle of the ball."

Harry glared. "You're just in a snit because Seamus is going with Daphne Greengrass and not you."

"Ouch!" Dean murmured, throwing his hands up in submission. "That was harsh, mate."

"Sorry," Harry said contritely.

"So what's got you staring at your reflection so hard?" Seamus questioned. "Have you caught the Malfoy disease and fallen in love with yourself?"

"Ooh," Neville said with a smile. "What exactly did you and Malfoy do in order for you to catch his _disease_?"

"Neville!" Harry exclaimed, shocked.

Dean and Seamus grinned madly at their friend.

"Look at Nev, coming out of the closet swinging," Seamus complimented.

Neville smirked a distinctly un-Nevilleish smirk. "Must've been that potions accident."

Harry decided to get some of his own back. "Speaking of which, you haven't told us who your mystery date is," he pointed out. "I have just one question: does your outfit include a whip?"

Neville winked at him. "Maybe."

Seamus cackled. "Does that mean your secret date is Snape?"

"Not necessarily," Neville countered. "It might just mean I like a good whip."

Four boys howled with laughter.

Seamus turned back to Harry. "You still haven't told us about how you caught a disease from Malfoy."

Harry turned bright red. "There has been _no_ catching of diseases," he denied too quickly.

Three sets of eyes scrutinized him.

"You've had hot, sweaty man sex with him!" Dean accused.

"And you didn't tell us!" Seamus added.

Harry shook his head rapidly. "No. _No_ hot sweaty man sex."

Neville smiled benignly. "Do you know what this situation requires?"

Dean and Seamus nodded.

"No…" Harry protested weakly.

"The Magic 8-Ball," three voices intoned.

Harry sighed resignedly while Seamus dug through his trunk to find the Ball. "I've got it!" he pronounced triumphantly. Looking at his housemates, he said, "Everyone sit, we have to do this proper like."

The foursome settled into a circle on the ground with the Magic Eight Ball in the middle.

"On three," Dean murmured. "One, two…"

"Magic 8-Ball, we implore thee, give us the answers we seek." They chanted the sequence eight times.

"Sacrifices?" Seamus prompted, Summoning a glass four-leaf clover and placing it the center of the circle.

Neville Summoned a small bag of herbs, Dean Summoned a tube of hair gel, and Harry summoned one of the tail feathers from his old busted Firebolt.

"Magic 8-Ball, we implore thee, give us the answers we seek," they repeated.

Neville plucked up the Ball, shook it gently, and asked, "Magic 8-Ball, did Harry and Malfoy have hot, sweaty man sex?" He placed the Ball in the middle of the circle, and the foursome leaned forward to read its answer.

'_It is decidedly so_.'

"Ha! I knew it!" Seamus exclaimed. He grabbed the Ball, shook it, and asked, "Magic 8-Ball, is Neville going to the dance with Snape?"

'_Better not to tell you now_.'

"Aw!" Dean protested. "That's not an answer!"

Dean took the Ball in his hands. "Magic 8-Ball, does Seamus really love me?"

'_Without a doubt_.'

"Of course I love you, you git!" Seamus muttered. Dean smiled.

Harry shook the Ball and looked at it thoughtfully. "Magic 8-Ball, will Ron ever come to terms with his sexuality?"

"_Cannot predict now_.'

Harry sighed.

"Magic 8-Ball, thank you for responding to our humble pleas," they chanted eight times.

They rose to their feet, placing their sacrifices in the designated basket by the window. It was nearly full from their previous ventures with the Magic 8-Ball. Harry felt a stab of pain that Ron wasn't there with them as he had been on most of their sessions.

"So, tell us _everything_," Dean demanded, and the trio pushed Harry down on his bed and joined him, leaving no hope of escape.

"Spare no details," Seamus added.

"Hear hear!" Neville chimed in.

Harry blushed. "You guys are fucking pricks."

"Right." Seamus smirked. "Now that we've got that sorted, get back to the hot, sweaty man sex.

Staring down at his hands and not at his pushy housemates, Harry murmured, "Well… I might've possibly dragged him into an empty classroom and shoved him against a wall."

"Ooh, violent," Dean murmured.

Harry glared. "I'd just gotten into an argument with Ron and I was bloody pissed. Then Malfoy had to spout off at the mouth, so I decided he needed to learn his lesson."

"What lesson?" Neville whispered gravely.

"That he can only push me so far without consequences," Harry gritted out.

"And then?" Seamus prompted in a hushed voice.

Harry blanched. "I might've possibly taunted him about wanting me."

"What'd you say?" Neville asked.

"Er," Harry hedged. "_Don't tell me your blood isn't boiling for me_."

"That is so hot," Dean said, exhaling loudly.

Neville nodded. "What happened next?"

"Well, there was a lot of fighting for dominance and rolling around and biting and then kissing." He trailed off, imagining the vivid details of their encounter in his head. Malfoy's hot, wet mouth and the feel of their bodies grinding together...

"In your clothes?" Seamus questioned.

Harry sighed. "Well, we kind of tore our robes off and then… _you_ know…"

"Frotted desperately until you both came?" Seamus said baldly.

Harry squeaked and nodded, hiding his head in his hands.

There was a moment of respectful silence, which was broken by Neville.

"Too bad there isn't a picture of _that_."

"Hear hear!" Dean agreed.

"So what happens now?" Seamus wondered aloud.

Harry frowned. "Well, we'll go to the Ball and keep pretending we're in a relationship."

His housemates burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?"

Dean smirked. "You've gone flying together, you've gone shopping together, you're going to the Ball together, and you've had a lusty smutfest together. Doesn't that mean you're actually _together_?"

"Not necessarily," Harry protested.

"It's not like you've been pretending you're in love," Neville pointed out. "You've just been pretending you're _lovers_." A pause. "Which you now are."

"But…"

Dean smiled gently. "What do _you_ want, Harry?"

Harry flinched. "I don't know. I haven't even thought about it, because it's all been pretend. I don't even think Draco's gay," he added.

"Um," Neville interjected. "That doesn't really make sense."

Seamus nodded. "Let us consider the evidence. First we have Exhibit A: The Lusty Photo. Then we have Exhibit B: The Lusty Lip-sucking, and C: The Lusty Potions Incident. Finally we have Exhibit D: The Lusty Smutfest. Not to mention that fabulous _hair_. I rest my case; Prince Malfoy is gay."

"He might've just been getting off on the violence of it," Harry said. "The whole thing proved to me that I'm gay, because I realized that I _love_ cock. But it might've proven to him that he's _not _gay."

His housemates sighed weightily, exchanging longsuffering glances.

"What happened after the smutfest?" Neville asked.

Harry blushed. "I said, 'well, I'm definitely gay' and he laughed at me. But it wasn't a mean, smarmy Malfoy laugh. Then he asked after his hair. We sort of had a civil conversation where we poked fun at each other without being dicks about it. That's when we showed up at Care of Magical Creatures."

"Aw!" Seamus cooed. "Ickle Harry's first smutfest."

Harry glowered. "Shut it, pillock." Turning to Neville, he conveniently changed the subject. "So spill, Nev, who're you taking to the Ball?"

"I'm taking Luna," Neville admitted. "She really wants to go with Padma, but they're in the same House." He paused. "However, if I happen to come across Severus in some dark corner…"

"I didn't know about Padma and Luna," said Dean.

"Well, it's still a secret," Neville replied. "Of course, Harry's very _public_ 'coming out' is sort of paving the way for others."

Frowning, Harry muttered, "That's just what Ron accused me of. Playing the Boy Hero and then slinking back to my safe, hetero life."

"Even if you were, why would it matter?" Dean asked.

Harry smiled bitterly. "That's exactly what _I _said. But Ron really fucking believes it's wrong to be gay. He hates himself for it, and he hates me because he thinks I'm just posturing. Then, when I told him I actually _am_ gay, he said I should spend my whole bloody life pretending to be something I'm not rather than be a disgusting shirt-lifter."

His words were met by silence.

"Wow," Neville finally murmured. "I really feel bad for him. He's never going to be happy."

"I know," Harry agreed. "Not to mention that he'll never accept me as a friend unless I take it all back and start shagging girls."

Seamus chuckled. "It must really burn him that he's stuck in a dorm with three morally corrupt blokes."

"Three and a half morally corrupt blokes," Neville interjected. At their confused expressions, he explained, "I'm an equal opportunity sex Kneazle."

"Hear hear!" Seamus cheered.

"There's just one thing I want to know," Dean mused. When he had their attention, he turned to Harry and said, "Why the bloody hell were you staring at yourself in the mirror earlier?"

Harry blinked. "Oh right." He stood up and smoothed out his trousers. "You can see the line of my boxers," he explained.

The trio on the bed burst out laughing.

"Have you got any dress briefs?" Neville asked.

Harry stared blankly at him.

"I'll take that as a no."

Dean chuckled. "Well, you're not borrowing mine, mate. That's where I draw the line."

"Just go commando," Seamus suggested.

"What?" Harry demanded, shocked.

Grinning, Seamus replied, "That's what I do."

"It's true," Dean admitted with a lecherous smirk. "It's fucking hot."

"Even if Malfoy's not gay, he'll _be_ gay if you tell him you're wearing nothing under your trousers," Seamus promised.

"Are you having me on?" Harry asked.

"Have you got a thong?" Neville asked innocently.

"_Neville_!" Harry shrieked and then laughed somewhat hysterically.

"What?" His face scrunched up unattractively.

Seamus nodded decisively. "Right, bare-balls it is, then."

Harry looked to Dean pleadingly. "For real, are you having me on?"

Dean shook his head. "Just try it."

Turning away, Harry changed quickly, blushing madly all the while. Fastening his trousers, he checked out the effect in the mirror.

"There, see?" Dean asked. "There's no bunching up in the back or lines across your thighs."

"Doesn't that just make it obvious I've nothing on underneath?" Harry worried.

"No one will know unless you tell them," Neville assured him. "Plus you won't be the only one."

Seamus leered. "Right, I've nothing on beneath _my_ trousers either."

Harry sighed and pulled on his green silk shirt. They watched as he did up the buttons and cufflinks and wriggled into the black vest. The black robe was more like a cape, and fastened with a silver clasp. He slid his feet into black dress shoes and bent over to tie them. Turning to face his friends, Harry waited nervously for their approval.

"Malfoy's got fantastic taste," Dean observed.

Seamus nodded. "You look bloody hot, mate."

"Hear hear!" Neville said with a smirk.

Harry smiled with relief and sat on his bed to wait for them to finish dressing. Once Dean was ready, he attacked Harry with hair gel, arranging each strand to his liking.

Finally, they were ready for the Ball.


	17. Chapter 17

Draco was standing in front of the mirror fiddling with his hair. It fell softly around his face, and to the casual observer it would appear perfect. To Draco's discerning eye, however, there was a single strand jutting out slightly from the rest. He pulled it closer to inspect it.

"BLOODY FUCKING HELL!" he shouted.

Blaise dashed gallantly into the room, primed to save the day. "What's wrong?" he demanded, looking around for potential threats.

"Come here," Draco ordered, still holding on to the offending hair.

Blaise complied warily.

"Do you see what this is?" Draco asked.

Shrugging, Blaise commented, "It's a hair."

Draco glared. "No, you strapping, well-hung Italian imbecile, it's a _split end_."

"Um…" Blaise hedged, edging slowly away from the evil Medusa.

"I can't meet Potter with a split end!" he wailed desperately.

"You know eighty hair-trimming spells," Blaise said reasonably. "Why don't you just _use_ one?"

Draco's eyes widened. "Oh. Right." He turned to the mirror to deal with the offending hair debacle.

"I know what this is about!" Blaise busted out suddenly. "You're nervous! You've got a hot date with Potter, and you're _nervous_!" He sighed wistfully. "I never thought I'd see the day…"

"What are you on about, now?" Draco asked, looking petulant. "Malfoys are _never_ nervous, and it's not even a real bloody date."

Blaise chuckled. "He asked you out in front of the entire school and you said yes. You went shopping together and you're meeting up outside the Great Hall so you can make an entrance as a couple. I think that qualifies as a date."

Draco sighed. "Yes, well you know my _real_ reasons for taking part in this mess."

"Right. And that'd be well and good, except that you and Potter have been caught snogging several times," Blaise pointed out.

"Of course we have!" Draco defended. "It's all part of the genius façade."

Blaise burst out laughing. "You look lovely with your head buried in the sand, darling."

"What?"

"You can't _fake_ that kind of sexual tension," Blaise informed him gleefully. "You two look ready to spontaneously combust every time you get within ten feet of each other."

"You should know by now that I'm an incredible actor, Zabini," Draco said archly. He smoothed down a brow and then turned away from the mirror to face Blaise.

"Right, you're perfect at your bloody Malfoy Ice Queen routine, but beyond that you're hopeless. It's why you always hide behind it."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "I've nothing to hide from."

"Uh huh…."

"There's nothing going on between Potter and me outside of our deal," he insisted.

Blaise eyed him skeptically. "So you haven't had any _close encounters_ without an audience?"

"What is it with you and that bloody Muggle filth?" Draco demanded.

"Oi!" Blaise threw his hands up defensively. "I'll have you know it's an epic tale of man versus alien! A view into the very crux of humanity. A fine treatise on the all-too-human battle of belief without seeing. A religious…"

"Cut the fucking crap, Blaise."

"There's a mashed potato mountain and everyone's dashing around in short shorts!" he exclaimed.

Draco arched a condescending brow.

"Oh fine!" Blaise muttered. "Just because I don't sit home reading '100 Flash Alternatives to the Cruciatus Curse' doesn't mean I've no taste."

"101," Draco corrected.

"What?" Blaise's face scrunched up unattractively.

"It's '_101_ Flash Alternatives to the Cruciatus Curse'."

Blaise sighed. "Whatever. You haven't answered my question. Have there been any close encounters without the thrill of exhibitionism?"

"No," Draco drawled. "Potter and I did _not_ have sex with extraterrestrials."

"Ha ha," Blaise muttered sarcastically. "I want to know about _you_ and _Potter_, shagging like Kneazles in heat."

"There was no shagging," Draco said firmly.

Blaise scrutinized him thoroughly before shouting, "I knew it! You've had hot, sweaty man sex with Potter!"

"I have not!" Draco denied stiffly.

Blaise laughed. "Oh, I know you, mate. There was a twitch!"

"Pardon?"

"You might be Mr. Smooth & Imperturbable to the rest of the world, but I know for a fact that your left eye twitches slightly when you're lying."

"That's fucking ridiculous!" Draco exclaimed. "There's no twitch!"

"Just tell me," Blaise ordered.

Draco shuddered.

"It was _that_ hot?" Blaise asked with awe.

"Potter was all hot and bothered, and I…" He trailed off.

"Said something bitchy?" Blaise offered helpfully.

Draco glared. "Yes. So he dragged me into a classroom and shoved me against the wall and said there were consequences for crossing the line."

"Wow. Sometimes Potter makes me wish I was gay," Blaise murmured.

Draco growled, and then instantly caught himself, horrified.

"Oh Bloody Merlin, I've never seen you so _possessive_," Blaise said softly. "Unless it was about Potter, but then that was usually over your sole right to torment and torture him…"

"Blaise," Draco said warningly.

"No, I should've seen this coming!" he continued, fascinated. "All that obsession and passionate rage." He eyed Draco curiously. "I just never realized you liked a good dollop of violence with your sex."

"You're bloody off your rocker!" Draco defended.

Blaise eyed his practically vibrating friend and realized belatedly that he'd pushed him far too close to the red zone. Something best left to equally wrathful yet sexy Potters. He checked his timepiece.

"Oops, time to go," he said brightly. "If you're to be fashionably late to meet Potter, as is required in the Malfoy Handbook, you've five minutes to get there."

Draco took one last look in the mirror and stalked through Slytherinville. Blaise followed at a safe distance, thinking that whatever happened, this promised to be a fucking fantastic night.

Stepping into the entryway of the Great Hall, Draco immediately spotted Harry and nearly swallowed his tongue. He froze, having to forcefully restrain himself from running a nervous hand through his hair.

Blaise leaned into Draco and whispered, "Go get 'em, cowgirl," before disappearing to locate his own date.

"It must be the fabric," Draco murmured, eyes glued to the dashing Gryffindor.

Harry, for his part, spotted Draco and gulped. He swatted Seamus and Dean away and approached Draco warily.

"Malfoy," he greeted softly, a slight blush dusting his cheeks.

Draco stared.

"Er…" Harry offered eloquently.

"Your eyes!" Draco stammered, confused.

Harry frowned. "Pardon?"

Draco mentally relegated himself to the Ninth Circle of Hell for his hideous behavior. "You're not wearing glasses," he explained, trying to pull himself together.

Harry's blush grew deeper as his eyes ran of their own accord over Draco's body. "Oh, right. Well. I've been meaning to… and you know I figured… having to fight His Snakeliness and all… I thought tonight would be… you know… he could break my glasses and… so… I… contacts."

"Well," Draco stuttered. "Good choice." He mentally slapped himself.

Harry took a deep breath, seeking his inner cool. "You look bloody great," he said honestly.

"As do you," Draco replied, regaining his poise.

"So." Harry pulled a small object from his pocket and tapped it with his wand. It bloomed instantly into a single, black rose. "This is for you."

Draco nodded approvingly and allowed Harry to Charm it to his lapel. "Thank you."

Harry nodded, green eyes meeting silvery-gray. "I thought since I asked you, I should bring you something."

Raising a brow, Draco drawled, "I'll have you know, I'm not the girl in this relationship."

Harry let his gaze sweep lazily over Draco's form. "Believe me, I know," he said heatedly.

It was Draco's turn to gulp. Desperate for something to distract him from those eyes, he reached into his own pocket and, tapping a small parcel with his wand, offered Harry a delicate white bloom. He leaned in to Charm it to Harry's lapel and when he pulled away, he was once again subject to Harry's intense gaze.

"You got me a _lily_," Harry whispered, touching the petals reverently.

Draco lost his words again, in a supremely unMalfoyish fashion. "Well…" He looked at the floor.

Harry touched hand lightly to get his attention. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

Looking around, they noticed that most of the couples had already entered the Great Hall.

"Ready to put on a show?" Draco inquired with a smirk, proffering an arm to Harry.

"Oh certainly," Harry replied, grinning. He linked arms with Draco and they headed for the double doors.

Draco halted. "Wait. Last minute fabulousness check." He conjured a mirror and checked his hair. Then, he eyed Harry; reaching out to run his hands down Harry's sides to smooth the slight wrinkles there.

Harry held his breath at the gentle touch. "You just can't wait to put your hands all over me," he teased to cover his own enjoyment.

Draco blushed slightly. "It's the fabric," he insisted.

"Right then, shall we?" Harry faced the doors with a certain amount of trepidation.

"We'll be fine, Potter," Draco assured him, and, linking arms again, they passed through the doors and into the Hall.

As expected, all conversation stopped at their appearance. They entered with their heads held high, deliberately pretending not to see the ruckus they'd caused. Several cameras flashed, and Draco smirked.

"All we've done is walk in the door. This is going to be a bloody fantastic debut," he gloated.

Harry nodded, though he'd never grown comfortable with the stares and gossip that followed him everywhere. He might as well use it to his advantage, though. "Well, we've let them take their pictures of our grand entrance. Time to move on."

"Shall we adjourn to the refreshment table?" Draco suggested.

Harry surveyed the room critically. Taking Draco's hand, he began to lead him across the room.

"Where are we going?" Draco asked, thrown by the feel of Harry's warm hand in his own. It certainly looked good to their public, but it also felt fantastic. No one had ever held his hand before.

"An important note on Hogwarts functions," Harry said. "Always go to the table where Seamus is. He spikes the punch without fail."

"Ah," Draco replied with a knowing smile. "Feeling the need for a little liquid courage?"

Harry exhaled sharply. "Sans nui doute."

Draco raised a brow. "I thought your only knowledge of French involved the male anatomy."

Grinning, Harry explained, "Aunt Petunia went through a phase where she tried to convince everyone that she was multicultural. So she memorized some French phrases from a book and would trot them out in front of company. Only she pronounced it 'Sannz Newie Dwat'."

Draco burst out laughing, leaving their avid audience shocked by the duo's easy familiarity.

"When she got over the phase, she threw the book in the trash, but I rescued it while I was washing the dishes and snuck it into…" He stopped short. "Uh, my _room_, and read it."

Draco looked at him thoughtfully, but Harry averted his eyes. "Right," he said uncertainly.

They reached the refreshment table, and Harry sighed with relief. "Seamus!" he greeted. "What's on tap for today?"

"Good evening gentlemen," Seamus replied with a smirk at their joined hands. "Tonight we have a fine mixture of punch and rum."

"Um," Harry hedged. "It's not rum that you spelled from water, right Sea?"

Seamus laughed. "No, mate, it's the real thing."

Harry ladled up a goblet for himself and Draco. They each took a sip and had to suppress their coughs.

"Are you sure there's punch in there?" Harry asked doubtfully.

Seamus was momentarily distracted by the approach of Dean, drooling over his boyfriend's well-cut navy robes.

Harry chuckled. "Uh, Seamus, your gay is showing."

"Doesn't really matter after that mess in Potions, now does it, mate?" Seamus retorted.

"Right," Harry said contritely. "Sorry."

Seamus waved a hand to cut him off. "Didn't you know? You and Malfoy have made shirt-lifting the newest fad. I've seen random fourth years making out in the corridors. Blokes that're _definitely_ straight."

"How can you tell?" Harry asked curiously.

Seamus regarded them very seriously, leaning in as though he was about to share one of the secrets of the universe. "Straight guys kiss differently than gay guys."

"What?" Draco exclaimed incredulously.

"That's ridiculous," Harry added.

Seamus shrugged. "It's true," he insisted.

At that point Dean joined them, taking in their expressions. "What'd Sea do now?"

"Oi!" Seamus protested. "Why do you assume _I_ did anything?"

"It's like a sixth sense I have," Dean replied, leaning in to kiss Seamus lightly on the lips.

Seamus grabbed his boyfriend by the shoulders and held him there, letting their kiss grow more thorough. Turning his head to Harry and Draco, he said, "See?"

They stared blankly at him.

"What's this about?" Dean asked.

Draco smirked. "Finnigan here thinks you can tell gay guys and straight guys apart by the way they kiss."

"Oh, it's true," Dean said immediately.

"You're both full of it," Harry muttered.

Dean and Seamus exchanged a glance.

"You two try it," Dean suggested. "Then we'll explain the differences."

"What?" they both cried, shifting uncomfortably.

"Were not just going to kiss on cue, right here in the Great Hall," Harry defended, looking uneasily at Draco.

Seamus eyed them challengingly. "Well, you're _together_, right?"

"Wouldn't want anyone to think it's all a ploy," Dean added helpfully.

Draco leaned in and murmured, "Well, it _would _look good for our public, Potter."

"Mmm," Harry agreed thoughtfully, suddenly liking this idea. "Wouldn't want anyone to think we're not sincere…" He took a step closer to his date.

Draco closed the distance and met Harry's eyes. Lifting his drink, he said, "A toast, Potter. To genius plots."

"Genius _Gryffindor_ plots," Harry corrected. They touched their goblets together and then downed the contents in one go.

Putting both of their goblets on the table, Draco placed his hands on either side of Harry's face and brushed their lips together. Harry's hands went immediately to Draco's hips, pulling him in. He licked a trail across the outside of Draco's mouth, gasping a little when Draco parted his lips eagerly. The kiss deepened, and suddenly Draco's hands were in Harry's hair, and Harry's hands were tracing patterns up and down Draco's back. Draco bit Harry's lower lip and then sucked gently at it, causing Harry to moan wantonly. The sound went straight to Draco's cock and he echoed Harry's moan. Growing lost in the heady sensations, heads swimming, they forgot about the world around them. Until they heard sound of gleeful laughter, that is.

"Definitely gay," Seamus pronounced.

Harry leaned against Draco a little, head still muzzy with pleasure. "So?" he asked hoarsely. "How's it different?"

Dean and Seamus exchanged mischievous glances.

"It's not," Dean admitted. "Sea just likes to say that to get people to kiss him." He smiled fondly. "It's actually how we first got together…"

Harry glared. "You're both going to pay for this," he promised darkly.

"Oh please," Seamus replied unrepentantly. "Like you didn't fucking love it."

Harry met Draco's eyes curiously. "So… you're really gay?" he asked.

Draco smiled. "I'm a bloody shirt-lifting, knob-sucking, trouser-dowsing arse-bandit."

"Huh."

Running his hands up and down Harry's sides, Draco muttered, "It's the fabric."


	18. Chapter 18

"Ron's staring at us," Harry murmured.

Draco chuckled. "_Everyone's_ staring at us, Potter."

"Yes, but not like they're working up the courage to cast an Unforgivable."

"He hasn't got the stones," Draco sneered.

Harry shook his head. "He's got the stones to make our lives miserable."

Turning to catch the redhead's eye, Draco grinned lasciviously and then leaned in to trace a path with his tongue from Harry's throat up to his ear. Then he winked.

Harry gasped, face flushing with a heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment. The erotic feel of Draco's tongue on his skin and the sudden image of that tongue all over his body had him achingly hard in an instant.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he rasped.

Draco turned to face his date, stunned by the flashes of gold glittering in Harry's green eyes. "Potter…"

Harry pinned him in his gaze. "You can't just…" Reaching out, he pulled Draco's body flush with his own, showing him on no uncertain terms the result of his actions.

"Oh," Draco whispered, unconsciously running his hands up and down Harry's sides, reveling in the feel of silky fabric and the flesh hidden tantalizingly beneath.

Harry looked wild-eyed as he thrust his fingers into Draco's hair. "Fucking hell, Malfoy," he murmured throatily. Then he lost control and pulled him in for a bruising kiss. He sucked greedily at Draco's lips and plunged his tongue inside, tangling with Draco's and tracing patterns along the roof of his mouth.

Draco moaned into Harry's mouth and shoved him roughly against the nearest table. Hoisting him up so he was half sitting on the table, he pressed in close between Harry's legs and ran his hands up Harry's back beneath his robes.

Harry pulled away from Draco's mouth to gasp for air and, to his horror, saw every wizard and witch in the Hall watching eagerly. "Fuck," he groaned, burying his face in Draco's neck. "We're…"

"In the middle of the Great Hall," Draco finished, fighting desperately to control his blush. "_Bugger_."

Harry pulled away, his face bright red. "It's all your fault, you know," he accused.

"What?" Draco glared. "You attacked me!"

"Which never would've happened if you hadn't bloody _licked me_," Harry pointed out.

"I was just baiting Weasel."

Harry growled. "Well, you can't just provoke me like that."

Smirking, Draco asked, "Is this another lecture about _consequences_, Potter?"

Harry's blush deepened. "Oh, don't even pretend you didn't bloody love it," he snapped.

Draco opened his mouth to do just that, and then shut it again. "Maybe a little," he admitted.

Harry met his eyes and smiled tentatively. "I did, too, just for the record."

"That much was obvious," Draco drawled.

Running a finger over his own bruised lips, Harry murmured, "Incidentally, your tongue should be illegal."

Hannah Abbot looked from Harry's abandoned punch glass to his debauched appearance and said, "I'll have what _he's_ having."

Needless to say, her date, one Ron Weasley, was not impressed. "But _Hannah_, it's disgusting!"

She lifted her chin and glared down her nose at him. "Don't be ridiculous, Ronald."

Ron shook his head despairingly. "You've been spending too much time with Hermione." Dutifully, he led her to Seamus' refreshment table, glaring daggers at the Evil Gay Duo.

Blaise approached Harry and Draco, sporting Parvati Patil and a raging smirk. "So, was that part of your genius plan, boys?"

"He licked me," Harry said inanely, shuffling uncomfortably under their stares.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I was just trying to piss Weasel off," he explained.

"Ah," Blaise murmured knowingly, "and there were _consequences_ for crossing the line?"

Harry turned on his date. "You told!" he accused loudly.

Draco held up his hands in supplication, having visions of an enraged Harry turning the giant heart hovering above the dance floor into a piñata. "It's _Blaise_," he said pleadingly. "He knew."

"Merlin, this is so bloody embarrassing," Harry muttered peevishly.

"Simmer down," Draco said. "I sincerely doubt you haven't told someone."

Harry gulped. "Well, possibly several someones."

"_Several someones_?" Draco demanded. "Who, Potter? Who do I have to kill to end my humiliation?" He looked around wildly for likely suspects.

"Um…" Harry hedged. "Just Seamus… and Dean… and… Neville."

"What?" Draco's face scrunched up unattractively. "How dare you take the piss about me telling Blaise when you told your whole bloody House!"

"That's hardly my whole House," Harry said weakly.

Draco sneered. "You told _Finnigan_. That's as good as telling everyone in Britain with ears."

"Well," Blaise piped in brightly. "What with Pansy's shrieking fit the other day, most of Britain doesn't _have_ ears."

"That's not the point!" Draco snarled. "The point is that Potter's a bloody hypocrite."

"But they all ganged up on me," Harry said defensively. "I couldn't help it! I tried to deny it, but they brought out the Magic 8-Ball… and the Magic 8-Ball _never _lies."

"Magic 8-Ball?" Draco questioned.

Harry sighed. "It's a Muggle fortune-telling device," he said sheepishly. "But it's always bloody right, I swear!"

Draco arched a brow. "A _Muggle _device?" he sneered.

"Oh, right," Harry muttered sarcastically. "Do I need to bring up our mutual obsession with _Muggle_ Grunge?"

Draco glared. "I still contend they're wizards in disguise." "Aren't they just the cutest old married couple ever?" Blaise asked Parvati.

Parvati grinned. "I was never really into the whole love/hate thing." She smiled suggestively at Blaise. "I've always been more of a _love/love_ kind of girl."

"Oh, please," Draco interrupted. "That's the worst bloody come-on I've ever heard, Patil. If you haven't got something witty to say, don't say it at all."

"Oi!" Blaise said sharply. "Just because you're into that kinky S&M stuff, doesn't mean the rest of us are."

Parvati eyed them pensively. "The real question is: who's the Dom and who's the Sub?""I should think it'd be obvious," Draco said.

"We take turns," Harry added blandly.

Blaise and Parvati left to dance, and Harry and Draco took the opportunity to down another dose of Seamus' punch-flavored rum. As per usual, it turned into a race requiring three cups of rum each.

They tied.

Harry swayed slightly. "You realize, of course, that we've consumed the equivalent of perhaps five shots apiece of rum."

Draco laughed. "I _realize_ that you somehow become more eloquent with the judicious application of cheap liquor. You should be drunk all the time, Potter; then perhaps we could have a decent conversation."

"Pardon me!" Harry protested. "I'll have you know I'm a superb conversationalist."

Hermione chose that moment to approach with Terry Boot. "Hello," she said tentatively.

Harry grabbed her arm. "Malfoy has alleged that I'm not a satisfactory conversationalist!" he whined. "Please inform him, dear Hermione, that I am a most excellent raconteur."

Hermione stared. Looking to Draco for help, he mimed tipping back a cup and chugging.

Harry grabbed his hand and held it, entwining their fingers. "You have consumed an equal amount of rum," he pointed out.

As a sign of his own state of drunkenness, Draco grinned widely, using facial muscles he never knew he had, and then giggled (manfully, of course).

"For the love of Merlin, cease!" Harry pleaded, holding a hand up to block his view of Draco's beaming face. "That's supremely alarming."

Draco pulled Harry's hand up to his lips and kissed it gallantly. "Do calm down, Harry, I'm in a smiley mood."

"Circe!" Harry cursed. Turning to Hermione and Terry, he exclaimed, "He said _my name_!"

"I like your name!" Draco chirped. "Harry Harry Harry Harry Harrrrrrrrrry!" Contorting his face into a leer, he murmured, "ooh, Harry… ooooooh _Harry_!"

The boy in question turned bright red. Leaning in, he hissed, "consequences, Malfoy, _consequences_!"

Draco grabbed his other hand and pulled him close. "Maybe I _want _you to teach me a lesson, Harry."

Hermione broke in. "Listen, we're going to leave you two alone. I just wanted to say, Harry, that I'm sorry about attacking you the other day. I'm behind you all the way."

Harry smiled. "That's lovely, Hermione. I'm thrilled that the current situation has not been a detriment to our relationship."

Turning to Terry, Hermione said, "This is bloody creepy, let's go."

"We must dance!" Draco announced grandly.

Harry blanched. "Are you jesting?"

"No, it won't be a proper debut unless we dance." Draco glowed at him, and then had to grab desperately at Harry's robes to keep from falling over.

"But we're severely inebriated!" Harry pointed out. "In addition, I haven't had the necessary training in the art of dance."

Draco pouted, still clinging to Harry's robes. "How can you not know how?"

"As regrettably, in my youth, I didn't receive a well-rounded education composed of ballroom dancing and deadly curses, it should be quite easy to comprehend my lack of such worldly knowledge," Harry said.

"But…"

Harry glared, reaching out for a chair to keep his balance. "In addition, I've never been invited to the Dark Lord's Yuletide regalia. I'm rather hurt, to be perfectly frank."

"But…"

"Furthermore," Harry added, slurring slightly. "There was hardly room in my cupboard for dancing."

"_Cupboard_?"

Harry clamped a hand over his traitorous mouth. "Never you mind." He quickly returned to the original subject. "You saw me in fourth year; I was simply horrid."

"I thought that was Patil's fault." Draco grinned sappily. "I'm going to teach you to dance, Harry! It's ever so much fun." Tugging on Harry's hand, he pulled the reticent Gryffindor onto the dance floor, stumbling madly along the way.

"Malfoy…"

Draco pulled Harry close, intertwining their right hands and placing his left hand on Harry's hip. "Just follow me," he instructed.

They lurched around in a crooked, drunken circle.

"Malfoy, I'm quite dizzy," Harry complained, looking rather green around the gills.

Draco sighed. "Yes, well, I never received instruction on how to dance while sodding pissed."

Harry wrapped his hands around Draco's neck. "Let's just…"

Instantly obliging, Draco ran his own hands over the soft fabric under Harry's cape, coming to rest on the small of his back. "Mmmkay. Bloody marvelous fabric."

They swayed together in place, not bothering with complicated steps.

Harry buried his face in Draco's neck, plunging his hands up into platinum locks and tugging gently. "I like dancing," he whispered.

Draco grinned happily; pulling their bodies flush and letting his hands wander lower. Then he gasped. "Um, Harry?" he asked, voice trembling. "What's under your trousers?"

Harry exhaled against the sensitive skin of his neck. "Nothing," he said gleefully.

"Holy fucking Merlin on a stick!" Draco cursed, pulling Harry impossibly closer.

"I'm afraid I don't own any dress briefs," Harry said softly, "and boxers made my trousers bunch quite unattractively." He pulled away to look into Draco's face, and then winked saucily. "You approve?"

"Holy fucking Merlin on a stick!" Draco repeated dumbly. He couldn't stop himself from running his hands over Harry's delectable arse. It wasn't a joke; there was nothing between Harry's trousers and the flesh below. His breathing grew quite erratic. "Bloody fucking Hell, Harry!"

The boy in question chuckled, pausing to place an open-mouthed kiss on Draco's neck.

Draco growled, pulling Harry's head up to face him. Then he bit down harshly on his bottom lip. Grabbing Harry's hand, he began to drag him forcefully off the dance floor, heading for the entrance of the Great Hall.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, stumbling to stay on his feet.

Draco looked over his shoulder and met his eyes fiercely. "You have to learn that there are consequences for your actions,_ Harry_."


	19. Chapter 19

Draco dragged Harry forcefully to the scene of their last lusty smutfest. After he cast Locking and Silencing Spells on the room, he lit the torch. Dark shadows retreated to their corners in the face of its flickering light. Before Harry could regain his breath, Draco cast a complicated spell to chain Harry's arms and legs, spread-eagled, to the wall. Harry, understandably, was shocked sober by this new development.

"Malfoy, what the fuck?"

Draco, oblivious, began to stalk back and forth across the room in front of Harry. "This entire situation has gotten way out of control," he said, seething. "It's fucking with my head, Potter. It's all become a confusing, infuriating bloody mess," he growled.

"Yes," Harry agreed warily, "but I'm a little uncertain about why you felt the need to chain me to the wall."

"Potter," Draco snapped. "You will shut up and listen, or I'll silence you myself."

Harry prudently nodded.

"This was meant to be a breeze," Draco began. "A fantastic opportunity to capitalize on an unfortunate event. _I_ wanted to avoid my impending nuptials with the pug-nosed bitch and escape my initiation into old Red-Eye's Imperial Fascists Club without losing my entire inheritance. _You_ wanted to, I presume, give a good old 'fuck you very much' to the loser plebes that think they've the right to run your life while they make plans to nail you to a bloody cross and sacrifice you to the gods like a bunch of 1st Century halfwits."

He paused to take in a breath after his loquacious monologue and looked to Harry for confirmation. Harry nodded again.

"That's where things got fucking complicated," Draco exclaimed. "I didn't count on either of us actually turning out to be gay. I didn't count on losing control _in public_ several times." He glowered accusingly at Harry.

Harry shrugged mutely.

"This is just typical," Draco continued cynically. "This is just how my life goes. Every nefarious plot I ever devise is thwarted somehow. Usually by _you_, Potter, you bleeding pillock. I should've seen it coming. Once again, I'm fucked over royally by the universe."

Harry struggled desperately to cover his amusement.

Draco tipped his head to the ceiling and flung out his arms. "Yeah, you heard me!" he shouted. "Fucking universe, thinking you can just fuck a bloke over. I'll have you know, I'm a Malfoy, and Malfoys don't take lightly to being fucked in the arse."

Harry raised a brow.

"Figuratively, of course." He paused. "The point is, _Malfoys _decide how it's going to be. Not some trumped up, skanky-arsed Higher Power."

"Malfoy…" Harry said warily.

Draco sneered. "Did I say it was time for you to talk? This is really all your fault, Potter."

Harry frowned.

Draco moved closer, his eyes roving over Harry. "You stand there, all chained up and at my mercy, in that _bloody fabric_." He scowled. "It's bad enough that I'm gay. But no; Master Universe, that fucking fashion-deficient sadist, decides it'll be bloody hilarious to make me want to rip your clothes off, piece by piece, and do dirty things to you that I have no idea how to even _contemplate _let alone carry out."

Harry smirked. "No one would blame you, love," he said. "I'm bloody hot, not to mention that I've nothing on beneath my trousers." He wriggled temptingly.

Draco stepped forward menacingly. "Need I remind you which of us is chained to the wall?" He paused thoughtfully. "I could do whatever I want with you."

Harry gulped.

"I could tear off that pesky robe," he continued, voice dripping with seduction. "I could rip that vest in two with my bare hands."

Harry shivered, squirming against his bonds.

Draco took a step closer. "I could undo every button on the thrice-damned fabric of that shirt from top to bottom and lick every inch of flesh along the way."

Harry moaned, cursing the visible evidence of his growing arousal.

Leaning in, Draco whispered against Harry's ear, "Do you want me to, _Harry_? Do you want me to see what's underneath those trousers?"

Harry shuddered, arching his hips helplessly.

"You can speak now, Harry," Draco murmured.

"Holy fucking Merlin, Malfoy, _yes_!" Harry hissed.

Draco didn't really know what he was doing, but fuck if he was going to stop now. He licked a trail up Harry's throat, planting kisses along the line of his jaw. Harry's breath hitched and Draco reveled in it. He ran his tongue in a broad swipe across Harry's full lips while he unfastened his robes, letting the bulk of it fall away, forgotten.

Harry groaned as Draco's teeth sank into his lower lip. His mouth opened on a gasp, and Draco plunged his tongue inside forcefully. Harry greedily allowed it, following his instincts and sucking it firmly. Draco moaned against him, reaching up to clutch Harry's raven locks in his fingers.

"I…" he whispered against Harry's lips. "Not quite sure what I'm doing…"

Harry chuckled, voice shaky with desire. "You're doing just fine, _Draco_." He nibbled Draco's lips, and plunged his tongue in, tauntingly.

"Fuck," Draco cursed.

"Mmm," Harry murmured, arching his hips. "You can do anything you want with me, Draco. You can have me naked and writhing before you, utterly helpless. You can do all those things you've been dreaming of since we started this bloody game."

"Fuck, Harry, fuck," Draco said desperately. He pressed their foreheads together, breathing heavily.

Harry grinned. "_Take, if you want a slice. If you want a piece, if it feels alright_."

Draco's lips quirked at the mention of the song they'd been flying to on that fateful day when this all started. Then, Harry hissed in Parseltongue and Draco's world fell apart.

"I…" he whispered uncertainly.

"I trust you," Harry whispered.

Draco groaned; the last of his inhibitions stripped away. He pushed Harry roughly back against the wall and bit harshly again on his lower lip, drawing blood. The combination of Harry's plump flesh and the coppery tang of blood made his entire body vibrate each and every time. Then, as promised, he grasped the v-neck of Harry's vest and ripped it down the center.

Harry cried out. Who knew having his expensive clothes ripped off by Draco Malfoy, Fashion Whore Extraordinaire, would be so utterly and irrevocably hot. Who knew he'd practically come in his pants at the concept of being dominated by said Fashion Whore. The idea of domination in the strictest sense was unpleasant to Harry, but with Malfoy, it was different. Then again, _everything_ with Malfoy was different, and had been since the day they met.

Draco rubbed his hands up and down the silky texture of Harry's shirt, enthralled by the perfect fabric and the perfect flesh beneath. Running his hands back to the collar, he released the first button, plunging his tongue in to taste Harry's Adam's apple. Harry hissed and shuddered beautifully beneath his ministrations. Draco diligently released each and every button, following the exposed path of skin with his lips and tongue.

Harry whimpered. "Fuck…yes…more," he begged helplessly.

Draco spread the shirt apart, admiring the toned flesh underneath. He'd never done anything remotely like this before, but Harry had always driven him to new heights without fail. Why not this, too? Leaning in, he ran his tongue experimentally over Harry's left nipple. Harry hissed sibilantly, arching upward desperately.

"You like that, do you?" Draco teased.

"Oh, _God_," Harry rasped.

"Hmm," Draco murmured against Harry's chest, moving his tongue to let Harry's right nipple join in the fun. "Not God, Potter, just me."

"Nggh!" was Harry's only reply when Draco bit down lightly on the puckered nub.

Draco was having a hard time controlling himself. How in Circe's name had he never realized he was gay? More importantly, why had he and Harry wasted so many fucking years at each other's throats when they could've been… well, at each other's throats? This was a much better way to engage in witty repartee. Screw words and wands and fists. Lips and tongues and worshipping hands made far superior weapons. Instead of neither one ever fully winning, now they were _both_ winning.

He ran his tongue daringly down Harry's sternum, plunging tauntingly into his belly button. His entire life made sense when Harry screamed. He pulled back, taking in the thoroughly debauched and intensely hot picture Harry made: vest ripped in two, shirt laid open temptingly to reveal puckered, sensitive nipples. Harry's head hung forward; wide, glazed eyes meeting his own; tongue peeking out to lick red, swollen lips.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Draco rasped, running a hand down Harry's flushed cheek, and then reaching out to flick each nipple with his fingers. He ran his hands down Harry's sides and brushed gently over the waistband of his dark trousers. He remembered, suddenly, that Harry wasn't wearing anything underneath. He gasped as he ran his hands over Harry's hips. "_Merlin_," he cursed.

Harry smirked, running his eyes down Draco's body to his obvious erection. "The guys said even if you _weren't_ gay, you _would_ be if I went balls-out."

Draco gulped. He pressed the length of his body against Harry's, and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "What do you want, Harry?"

Harry moaned. "Anything. Everything."

Draco ran his hands up Harry's bound arms and then back down his sides, landing on his waist. He pulled Harry's hips against his own, roughly grinding their cocks together through their trousers. He groaned, letting his head come to rest on Harry's shoulder, biting down hard on the curve of his neck.

"Sssssss," Harry hissed, loving the combined pleasure and pain caused by Draco's blunt teeth. He arched his hips outward to increase the friction between them.

"Fuck," Draco cursed, pulling his head back to plunder Harry's mouth.

"Draco," Harry murmured against his lips.

"Tell me what you want, Harry," Draco said unsteadily.

Green eyes met gray, and the air between them sizzled. "Take your clothes off," Harry whispered. "I want to see you."

Draco opened his mouth, but didn't trust himself to speak. The desire in Harry's eyes spurred him on. He quickly removed his shoes, socks and cloak, tossing them carelessly away. Then, he pulled his vest over his head, leaving his silky locks tousled. Harry licked his lips, eyes not leaving Draco's body for a single second.

Harry watched Draco avidly; the unveiling of a Greek god right before his eyes set his blood boiling. Buttons slowly slipped from their holes, and when Harry ran his gaze upward to meet Draco's, he saw a hint of uncertainty there, lurking beneath the haughty smirk. He let Draco see the hunger in his eyes and was rewarded when Draco shrugged the shirt elegantly from his shoulders. When Draco began to unfasten his trousers, Harry arched helplessly against the chains, moaning at the sight of tight, sheer material barely covering the stiffened length of Draco's cock.

Draco finished his striptease and Harry drank in the sight of his naked form. "You're so fucking hot," he said, every inch of his body begging to be closer to Draco. "Come here."

Draco moved in, obligingly, and pressed himself fully against Harry. Arms and legs and hips and knees and chests met, and they both groaned loudly into each other's mouths. Draco growled, frustrated, and began to hastily work at Harry's trousers, yanking them down as far as they would go against his spread legs. Their cocks met, flesh to flesh, for the first time.

"Oh, fuck, Draco," Harry rasped, rubbing frantically against him.

"Merlin. This is…Harry…" He captured Harry's mouth urgently, tongues tangling, swallowing each other's moans.

Draco pulled his mouth away from Harry's, delighting in Harry's petulant whimper, and traced trails with his tongue down Harry's throat, placing licks and kisses against Harry's nipples and swirling his tongue in Harry's belly button. Harry yelped his pleasure. Then, Draco moved down further, eying Harry's cock curiously. He'd never imagined he'd one day be here; crouched before Harry Potter's cock, and wanting nothing more than to take it in his mouth. So he did.

Harry saw stars when Draco pressed alternating licks and kisses against his cock. He threw his head back, not even noticing the flair of pain when it cracked against the wall. He mewled helplessly when Draco tentatively took the head of his cock into his mouth and sucked gently. Harry hissed, arching wantonly into Draco's hot, wet mouth. As much as Harry wanted Draco to suck him dry, right now he wanted something else more.

"Draco," he whispered. "Come up here."

Draco obeyed, lips red and swollen from their former position around Harry's cock. Their bodies aligned instantly and when Draco leaned in, Harry ravaged his mouth desperately. Draco moaned and ran his hands over Harry's arse and pulled their hips tightly together. They frotted urgently, brought to the brink by the delicious friction. Harry hesitated, and Draco noticed instantly.

"What do you want, Harry?"

Harry brushed their cocks together. "Put your hand around us both," Harry said shakily.

Draco complied, and the feeling of their cocks pressed together from base to tip in his hand sent them both spiraling wildly to orgasm. Ignoring the stickiness between them, Draco pressed his body against Harry's and kissed him frantically.

"Mmm," Harry murmured dazedly, and Draco heartily agreed.

Draco pressed their foreheads together, his entire body vibrating. "Merlin's Satin Panties, Potter," he said breathily.

Harry smiled and brushed their lips together. "Have I been properly punished, then?" he asked cheekily.

Despite recent events, Draco's cock twitched. "_Shirt-lifter_," he snarked.

"_Trouser-dowser_," Harry shot back.

Draco ran his hands appreciatively down Harry's sides, coming to rest on his unjustly perfect backside. "Yeah, definitely an arse-bandit." He sighed.

"Incidentally," Harry murmured against Draco's ear. "Can I get down now?"


End file.
